


The Armorer

by Hephastia



Series: Emma Harrington [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-31 08:20:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 68,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19422130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hephastia/pseuds/Hephastia
Summary: Not everybody's superpowers enable them to suit up. What happens when a hermit superhuman meets up with Captain America?The Avengers characters are the property of Marvel. The story roughly follows the storyline in the MCU through Civil War, with some ideas taken from the comics. Emma Harrington is a character of my own creation, as are a few other minor characters. This story was originally published on Wattpad in 2016, but there is some additional editing and slightly more content.





	1. How I got to be in the middle of the jungle

Once upon a time, I used to be a materials scientist. I have a Masters degree, actually.

It was a dark and stormy night. The night the accident happened, actually. Today is hot and humid.

I swipe at the tiny insects that irritate me and I see the details of the creatures. I dismiss the knowledge and turn to my current project, which is casting a part in aluminum for one of my neighbors.

I use the term "neighbor" loosely, since the nearest village is about five miles away, toward the edge of the Amazon. I don't really see people much these days unless I'm picking up something at the post office about twenty miles away or doing some shopping for necessities. I mostly see my neighbors when the men come to me and ask if I can fix something for them. Sometimes it's just to ask if I can make a part for them.

I can, of course. My first job down here was to melt down a couple of pop cans and cast a simple part for an application where aluminum would do just fine. The guy needed it and traded me an old ax, and that's how it began. I still have the cutoff left over from that first casting as a souvenir. Now I trade small jobs for food, larger jobs for scrap metal. The trade has to be approved by me before I work, though, ever since that one jerk left me a basket of rotten fruit covered by a layer of good fruit.

Right now I'm repairing and making small improvements to a truck engine. I could do a lot more than small improvements if I wanted, but if I did that, then word would spread about me. I came down here for the peace and quiet and to get used to my new abilities. They can be overwhelming. I take a tiny file and perfect the shape of the new part. The engine would run without all the finishing touches, but I don't like not giving my best. I made an honest trade, and my customer deserves my craftsmanship. And as long as the parts and work are maintained halfway decently, I'll fix it again free of charge if there's a problem. Not if the parts are abused or not maintained, though. Most of the people I do work for respect that, but there are always a few men who don't feel like a woman has any right to make conditions. They hate asking me to do work for them, when it comes right down to it. The guy who gave me the rotten fruit got his wife to come and make the deals after that because I won't trade with cheaters.

I'm not really trusted around here, as a white woman living alone in as-yet undeveloped Amazon forest. 'Civilization' seems to creep closer every day, though. I'm tolerated because I can fix things and I keep to myself, and since that's exactly the way I like it, everybody benefits. I can't say that I worry about my personal safety in general; as I say, my neighbors leave me alone unless I've got a job, but sometimes people who aren't local show up. I'm strong and I haven't had to defend myself yet, but just in case, I've trapped my area with protections.

By late afternoon, I've got the engine back in the truck. I told the owner it would be ready tomorrow morning, and I do like to beat my own deadlines. I putter around, picking up a few things and making sure everything is just where I want them to be, but there's no big cleanup; I do that as I go along. I look around with pride. I found this clearing as I was hiking through the jungle and built what I need singlehanded. I did pay for it, but I'm not entirely certain that the man I bought it from actually owned it. My workshop includes a forge of my own design, very efficient and clean. For living quarters, I built a treehouse. I go to town once a month for foods that I don't get in trade or that I want, any specialty or personal items I've ordered, and to make myself have normal human interactions. I uploaded books to my Kindle while I was there and read the books I'd had brought in for me at the library. One of the best side effects of the accident was that I read a lot faster and retain knowledge much better now. A photographic memory, actually, which is great because I don't want to have a lot of textbooks cluttering up my area.

Right now I'm in the midst of a prolonged metallurgy kick. In my mail were metals for alloys and materials for coatings. Tonight after dinner I'm going to start testing my latest results. I'm trying to keep the best qualities of aluminum while making it tougher. I'm looking to make it as tough as titanium without compromising the ease of work and its melting point. And with my coatings, increasing its durability and overall strength. This is something that will be valuable out here and the first step to creating new alloys that could rival vibranium. Or surpass it, which is my real goal. Why? Honestly, it's just ego.

After dinner, I lay out my four samples, four squares of slightly different alloys and with a smile, pick up my hammer and settle into a happy period of attempted destruction. I'm grinning at how well my samples are performing when I'm interrupted by a nice male voice speaking in English, which I haven't heard for months now.

"Hello? Anybody here?" There's something familiar about it and I automatically trigger one layer of my defenses, the first layer designed to capture an intruder.

Then I remember why it's familiar and look up into the tree canopy to see Captain America dangling by the ankles.


	2. Why is there an Avenger in my trees?

I see immediately that he's not struggling, so the first order of business is to look around for the Winter Soldier. If I've strung his buddy up, I fully expect a smackdown. I'm isolated out here, but even I've heard about Sokovia and the exciting news that the Leipzig airport is inconveniently broken because the Avengers are a house divided.

But using every trick I've got in my playbook reveals nothing. For some reason, Cap is without his best friend.

Now I know something's up.

I'm thinking about this when Cap clears his throat. "I don't suppose you could let me down? I'm not here to cause trouble."

And because the one thing that everybody agrees with, even Tony Stark, is that Cap is a straight shooter, I go back to my workbench, activate the trigger, and slowly and gently, Cap is lowered until he's about at the height to do a handstand, which is when the ankle cuffs release. He does a little handspring and stands, looking around but always keeping me in his peripheral vision. Fair enough. I shut off my music, which is on an Andrews Sisters playlist. 

"What can I do for you?" I ask, not identifying him on purpose. Since the throwdown in Germany, there's been a conspicuous absence of about half of the Avengers in the news media, and it's been announced that Captain America is an international fugitive from justice, which is such an immense load of manure I can't even begin to shovel it.

"I heard there was an ace mechanic out here," he says, looking at me kind of sideways. I don't feel any judgement in it, though. I'm the first to admit that I don't look like much, being on the short side and not built like a blacksmith. Or a stereotypical superhero. I nod instead.

"I'm good," I say. "What are you looking for?"

"Well...it would be made of metal. A circular object, rather large, slightly domed."

I stare at him, then it hits me that he isn't carrying his shield. Which was part of his costume. That a famous fugitive can't carry around. I finally smile. "Perhaps like a large, shallow salad bowl," I remark.

He catches on and grins. "That would be a fairly good description."

"It would be interesting, from a technical perspective, to bring the handles in from the edge."

"It would be the talk of the party," he agrees.

"I've been working on some interesting alloys," I mention. "I can certainly guarantee that they'll hold up against an oil and vinegar dressing."

"That would be great," he says. "Pitting would ruin the aesthetic I'm after." I walk over and extend my hand. 

"Emma Harrington," I introduce myself. He shakes my hand briskly and I realize that he looks absolutely exhausted. Even after the battle for New York, he looked only mildly fatigued on camera.

"I don't really have any money, though," he tells me baldly. I shrug.

"I usually work for barter anyway. You look pretty strong. As I said, I'm working with alloys. I could use your help testing them. You could pay for the salad bowl by trying to destroy them."

He smiles again, but there's no humor in it. "I'm good at destroying things," he says.

"Ok, then," I say. "Well, I won't be starting on this today. If you want, I've got a cot set up behind the forge."

"I can't take your bed," he says immediately, but I shake my head.

"I keep it there for naps when I'm working on something interesting. I have a treehouse with my real bed."

"I'll take it," he says, and immediately heads back when I point out the forge. It doesn't really look like a forge, more like a kiln, but it's my design and I can use it to anneal things as well. Of all the things I've made, I'm proudest of that, because it's all done with scavenged parts. Heavily modified, of course.

I work until the sun goes down, then make dinner. It's nothing fancy, just vegetables, some beef I had marinating in the fridge, and fruit for dessert. I walk back to offer some to my visitor, but he's out like a light, so I eat by myself and go upstairs to read before bed.

I can't concentrate, though. Here's the world's most famous expert in the performance of vibranium. I don't have any vibranium since it's the most tightly controlled element in the world, but here's an unparalleled opportunity to see how my constructs can hold up. I ditch the reading and after a couple of hours determine that my high performance salad bowl will be made of thin layers of different alloys. Each one will give something different to the mix.

I'm up at dawn, eager to start.


	3. Getting people to leave me alone is the hard part

Of course, just when I've got an enticing technical challenge, I can't get rid of my neighbors. I firmly established at the beginning that the cutoff for work is at noon each day and that projects can be picked up after sunrise. I'm not expecting much work because it's been on the decline lately; my repairs are holding pretty well. But today I have to wait for the owner of the truck to show up, and my neighbors trickle in all morning. Little things, but there are a lot of them. The biggest thing is a broken machete. I'm going to have to make a new one, so we settle on a combination payment of food and metal. Quite a lot of food, because the metal is poor quality. But that works out ok since I have a guest.

He's either still sleeping or is really good at staying under the radar. Nobody seems to know that there's anybody else around. Finally the last neighbor remarks that it's time to eat and leaves. Yay, because I do get cranky when I'm hungry. I made rice and beans this morning to cook slowly before coming down, and pop my head around the side of the forge to check to see if he's awake. He's got his arm across his eyes, but when I clear my throat, he removes it and sits up. "All clear?" he asks, and I nod.

"Want some lunch?" I offer, and he gets up quickly.

It's a good thing I made a lot, because he practically inhales the food. It must take a lot of calories to sustain the supersoldier. After we're finished, I give him the four samples I was working on last night and told him to do whatever he wanted to break them down. I get down to work for my neighbors and schedule the work I said I'd have tomorrow. The good thing is that time is more relaxed around here than it is in New York, and unless it's really urgent, nobody wants to trek up here on consecutive days. Most of the neighbors don't have mechanized transport, so a five mile walk represents a good whack of time.

After a few hours' work, I follow the sound of crashing to where he's smacking the samples with rocks, trying to scratch them. "Hey, how big around do you want the salad bowl?" I ask, and he looks up, frowning. He kind of tucks his bent arm against his side.

"About a couple of inches above my knee to about my shoulder," he says from his crouch. I take my ball of string from my pocket, knot the end, have him anchor it against his leg where he wants it, and I tie a knot where the apex will be. "Don't you measure?" he asks curiously.

I shake my head. "Not really, around here usually things just have to be enough. Wide enough, long enough, thick enough to do the job. Took awhile to get used to it, but it works." He considers this and then goes back to the rocks. I walk back to my workspace.

The first layer I make will be the thickest and heaviest and will be the core of the bowl. It's got some of this, a little of that, a reasonable chunk of lead. I start by melting the lead, then add the other metals a little at a time. Add some minerals, then the last metal; it's all done according to melting point. The beauty of this particular alloy is that I don't have to shape it much; I can pour the general shape and it will still be ductile enough when warm to refine the bowl-shape and trim it to size. I can't make the handles out of this stuff; they'd shear off at the base too quickly, but my visitor will be able to see if it's the right size. I can tweak it easily at this stage. When the metals have all melted, I have made a slightly domed shape by coating a huge tray on the table with sand and building up the form, spraying the sand with water to make it smooth and compact. Then I pour the metal and swirl the tray to distribute it all over the form evenly. Ish. It won't be perfect, but it will, in the end, be slightly less than two millimeters thick.

I monitor the metal as it cools, checking the crystalline structure to be sure it develops perfectly. It's not much work with this alloy; it behaves itself nicely, which is a great reason to start with it. Cap returns, and his timing is perfect. He looks at it and you don't have to be well-versed in reading people to tell he's got some trepidation about this model.

"This is just the first layer," I say to reassure him, but it doesn't seem to be too effective. "Don't worry; by the time this is done, your salad bowl will be able to withstand artillery fire."

"I'll take your word for it," he says, and shows me my samples. If I were alone, I'd clap my hands and squeal with glee. He's scratched them some, and one is slightly warped, but they've held up better than I'd hoped. By a long shot. I settle for a smile on the outside, a dorky dance of delight on the inside.

"Excellent," I say with satisfaction, then pick up the metal, brushing off the sand. "It's still warm, but could you stand close here and see if it's about the right size? It'll have maybe half a centimeter inconsistency from the size you gave me, but it'll be easiest to make it smaller or larger at this phase." I hold it up for him; it's still pretty warm indeed, and Cap doesn't get too close as he crouches behind it. He considers it, repositioning himself several times before nodding.

"That's great," he says.

"Ok, now, this next phase I could use your help for," I say.

"Of course. What do you want me to do?" he asks.

"See these places where there are bumps and imperfections?" I ask, pointing things out, and he nods. "When it cools enough to let you handle it, I want you to polish them off with a compound I'll give you. It's boring, but necessary."

"That's ok," he says, and I put the salad bowl back on the sand before demonstrating what I want him to do.

"Any questions at all, just ask," I tell him. "It'll be easier to answer questions, no matter how insignificant they may seem, than try to fix something later." I leave him to the polishing and get back to the paying work. Hopefully I can get ahead of schedule and have more time to work tomorrow. By dinner he's got the surfaces smooth and ready for me to do the next phase. He offers to make dinner, and I absently point out the direction of the treehouse before starting on this next important phase: making the thickness precise across the bowl. I'll shape and round the edge separately. I take the bowl over the anvil, tapping it with firm strokes with the hammer, constantly evaluating the thickness. I create the attachments for the handles. After dinner, I form the rim and have Cap do the final polishing. This was the easy part. From here, the alloys and coatings get more and more finicky and building up the salad bowl will get slower.


	4. The situation develops

I realize very quickly that I'm going to run out of food pretty fast the way Cap eats, so I move my monthly trip to town up and tell my neighbors when I'll be gone so they don't come looking for me only to be disappointed. Word will get around, but I also tell Cap to be careful while I'm gone because sometimes people come to snoop.

Once I got the core of the salad bowl formed, predictably the work slowed way down. The other alloys go down in coats that are molecules thick, and sometimes coatings are needed to make the layers adhere together. It's going to be a rather fragile affair until the end, when I'll stick it in the forge for hours to get everything to bond together. Just in case somebody sees the construct by accident, I whittle some fairly elaborate wooden handles, just as if it actually were going to be used as a salad bowl, so the cover story stays intact.

Early in the morning, I fire up my motorcycle and drive into town. I do a lot of grocery shopping and stow the food in the sidecar. One storekeeper asks why I'm buying so much, and I shrug. I say that the rainy season's coming up and I want to be sure I can go a couple of months if the roads get bad. He nods, knowing that most of the road I drive is a dirt track and I pick up the string bags of all my goods. It takes a couple of trips to get everything out. Then it's to the post office, where I have a satisfying number of boxes that will be containing all sorts of fun and interesting things I can use in my metalsmithing. I can't wait for playtime after I finish the salad bowl. For once, the tiny library doesn't have anything for me. I frown and go to a restaurant that has free WiFi. It's nice to eat something I don't have to cook. Then I head home after downloading new purchases to my Kindle and listening to the gossip in the restaurant.

It's troubling. Cap was spotted near the coast; he must have followed the river down, and the locals are nervous. It's not like we have a lot of supervillains here (or any, come to think about it), but there's a bounty on his head--half a million US dollars for information that leads to his capture. That's a lot of money for anybody but the 1%, and around here it's unfathomable riches. There was a lot of talk about forming search parties.

I need to get that salad bowl done, but there's a limit to how far I can push my process.

When I get back, Cap tells me that a couple of men I've had some trouble with came up and poked around while I was gone. They found the salad bowl and he saw them mess around with it and the wood handles. He'd climbed one of the trees with the most leaves and observed from above. I nod and tell him what I heard in town. I think we have equal frowns on our faces.

"I don't want to cause you any trouble," he says, and I believe him.

"It would be best for your continued freedom if you could relocate soon," I say and he nods. I ask him if he'll put away the groceries and I fire up the forge. I have three more coatings and it's going to require all my skill and concentration to get them done in a timely manner. I don't want to be responsible for getting Captain America locked up, and I worry that any trouble with my neighbors will mean I'll have to relocate myself. I unpack my mail and find some metal powders and minerals that I can use in the final coating.

I start to think about my exit strategy. If it becomes known I've been harboring a fugitive, I'll probably be deported myself, and that's after my neighbors get done with me. It might be for the best if I wrap things up and leave after Cap does. There are other countries in the world I can work in. I measure metals and additives precisely and put them in the forge to melt. The forge is actually a building made of mud brick; it looks like a commercial production kiln from the exterior and it can function like that too if I need it, but It allows me a place I can heat up to very high temperatures to work with large pieces. The actual forge, the part where I heat and work the metal, is pretty small. It has to be since it works off solar power. Obviously, they're not normal solar panels; they're based on designs I made back in the States, and I could do better now. When I leave, I have a self-destruct sequence that will powder the panels and any other sensitive materials I might have to leave behind. Soon the metal is ready and I get the salad bowl coated. I set it on the attachments where the straps for the shield will be and start to do my work.

About halfway through, Cap comes over and starts to speak, but I hold up my hand and he shuts up and sits down. It's another hour before everything is right and I look up tiredly.

"So what is it that you do?" he asks me. My lips twist, but it isn't really much of a smile.

"It's my superpower," I say. "I can manipulate matter." I take a deep breath. "On the atomic level. It's why the layers are so thin. It's because they're perfect."

His eyes open wide. "No shit?"


	5. No shit

I rock back, surprised. It's the first obscenity he's uttered.

"No shit," I murmur.

"So...how'd that happen?" he asks tentatively, and suddenly I want to talk about it.

"It's kind of a long story," I warn.

He stands up and walks over to the kitchen area under my treehouse. I didn't notice, but he made dinner. We eat chicken, rice, and a salad that isn't served in my current project in the gathering twilight.

"I graduated from college with a degree in materials science," I start off. "One of the places I applied was at Stark Labs. Mr Howard Stark was running the show then and he hired me. I was one of his protegees. After a little time working in the labs, he had me apply to a masters program, which I finished in eighteen months. Then he brought me back to his labs--not the weapons division, but he had me start to work on improving paints and coatings, specifically for metals, then I moved into metals. It was a plan to get me exposure on many levels of the labs, I worked in plastics and films too. He wanted me to get some experience before I started applying for a doctoral program. The company had an excellent program where they'd pay for your degree programs, if you were selected. And having Mr Stark behind your application was a pretty powerful thing. But after I started work again, had some time under my belt, Mr Stark was killed in that accident." Cap twitched.

"Sorry. I know he knew you. Mr Stark liked to hang out in the labs, it was where the innovation was happening and he was good at it too." Cap nods. "He used to tell us stories about helping on the team that transformed you. He was proud that he was in on something so groundbreaking, but the way he talked about you....he admired you a lot. He always said that the treatment made the exterior match the interior. He always said that your loyalty and integrity were second to none."

"Howard and I had our differences, but he was a good man," he said finally. I nod.

"He made me nuts sometimes. He made all of his favored employees take IQ tests. When he brought visitors into the lab, he liked to say that he had x number of geniuses working for him."

"Are you?" Cap asked. "A genius?"

"Barely. I just scraped in at 142. But whenever he found out that somebody hit that magical mark, he'd get us signed up for MENSA so we'd have proof if his visitors asked. And they did, so we'd wave our little cards at them. What a pain in the ass," I said fondly. "But after he died, things changed, of course. Obadiah Stane took over and most of the attention and money went to the weapons division. The education program ended, among other things. Then he went nuts or whatever, did that ridiculous Iron Monger thing. Then when Tony Stark took over, the weapons division was shut down. He didn't transfer employees either, when the division closed, a lot of scientists and technicians lost their jobs. A lot of them couldn't find new ones. Tony Stark started pushing the rest of us to produce more, do more research. He'd micromanage for awhile, then he focused on Iron Man and Pepper Potts, and he stopped pushing so much. Then she dumped him and he started in on us again."

I bite my lip. "So the tension is ratcheted up again. I'm working on coatings late one night because we have a deadline. To add to the tension, one of the labs is down because the fume hoods have to be repaired and they squeezed a bunch of that crew into our lab. They were working on something completely different. They're working late too, and one of them is walking some chemicals for disposal behind me when one of the scientists in my lab tries to rattle me and causes a little explosion, no damage or anything, just noise. Guy's a jerk, thinks I'm his big competition, so he was always trying to get me to mess up. I jolt to my feet and bump into the guy behind me. We collide and the chemicals splash all over me. The jerk starts to laugh, but the other scientists get us into the safety showers immediately and start flushing my eyes too. My safety glasses had come off during the collision. We're in the showers for a long time; nobody knew exactly what was in the chemicals, it was going to waste disposal. Then the medical staff that's on site examined us and determined that there was no harm done and gave us some scrubs to wear home.

"The next morning, Tony Stark and his PA are waiting for me and the other guy in the accident. He points to the company manual where it says we have to have supervisors OK us working past normal hours and says that we broke company policy because our lab manager had just given us a blanket approval a long time ago. It was more the company policy that we work late and overtime, anyway, but it wasn't in the employee manual. So he fires both of us, not at all interested in hearing our side of the story. I get a security escort to my office and in fifteen minutes I'm in the parking lot with a box of my stuff and a postage-paid envelope to send back the scrubs I'd worn home the night before.

"I immediately start sending out job applications to other labs, but nobody's interested in somebody fired from Stark labs, not even his competitors. They don't hire his former employees anyway; we all signed non-disclosure agreements and Tony Stark sues the crap out of anybody he even thinks might have violated it. I start to notice some changes over time. My skin changes and my vision starts to get better. When I have a knife slip in the kitchen that should have sliced my finger half off but doesn't even scratch my skin, I know something big's going on and I try to see the medical team at Stark Tech because I know they're doing some research into mutations in the really top secret labs, but they refuse to see me because I passed the medical exam after the chemical spill. At this point, my skin has become impervious to damage. I can't get cuts or bruises or burns on it. But it's just my skin, the tissue underneath, the bones, organs, they can still be damaged. I pray every day I never need surgery because if they can't get in through mucous membranes or the GI tract, it's not going to happen. I end up having to get a job as a waitress, and I start making plans. I get a lawyer to sue Stark Industries and it takes some time to get a generous award from the mediator, plus the attorney fees. I work my way up the restaurant ladder until I'm in one of the best places in the city and getting good tips, I'm living with other waitresses because it proved to be a bit of a hassle getting the money into my account; they waited as long as possible to pay out." I snorted.

"Meanwhile, my vision is getting better and better. It used to be really lousy, but within a couple of months it's perfect. And it continues to improve. I seem to have stabilized now; I can't quite see particles themselves, but I can see down to the atomic level, ultraviolet, visible light, of course, infrared, and heat. So I knew you were alone when you showed up because when I scanned the area, there were no additional heat signatures. I learned how to control switching among my vision options, spent my money on doctor's fees before I could get the award, did a lot of research, then after I had control over my abilities, I sold almost everything and left. I found this place by accident. I just wanted some peace and quiet where I could experiment, follow my research whims. And I found that it's not just seeing, I can somehow influence molecular composition with the force of my will." I laugh, brittle. "So when I'm staring at your salad bowl, I'm not zoning out, I'm poking atoms around, making sure molecules are perfect, substituting atoms where I have to. Where things are supposed to have amorphous structure, there's not much I have to do, but when a crystalline structure is required, for example, I have a lot of work." I look at him, spreading my hands palms up. "So that's what happened to me."


	6. Racing against time

"That's a lot to take in," he says slowly.

"Yeah," I agree. "I've had time to think through everything. It hasn't all been horrible, though. It obviously did affect my brain; I think the chemicals went along my optic nerves and into the brain that way; my creativity got a big boost, I can figure things out a lot faster, and I have a photographic memory now." I frowned. "I was disappointed with that, though. I thought that if I read "501 Spanish Verbs Fully Conjugated" and a dictionary I'd be set, but all it meant that I know vocabulary. It doesn't mean that I know how to put everything together or pronounce any of it." He grins.

"I hate to ask you to clean up after making dinner, but if I get another layer on this thing, tomorrow there'll be only one more layer and the final annealing. Then you'll be set," I say, changing the subject. The smile drops off his face.

"It'll be safer the sooner I can move on," he agrees, and goes to do the dishes. I loan him my Kindle so he'd have something to do and went back to work. I barely register when he goes to bed behind the forge. Some time after midnight, I was finished, and cleaned up as usual, but this time I also take a backpack and start to separate the things I'd take with me. I pack the most expensive, hardest to find stock that I had for my work, picking through everything again to make sure I didn't regret leaving something behind. Fortunately, I only had small amounts of things and they were lightweight. I add useful things like rope, matches in a watertight container. I didn't bother with lint; I had some magnesium powder that I could use to get a fire going. I had some tools that were hard to find; it wasn't easy to find rasps and files that could work with my alloys and I took only the most important ones. Finally, I stretch, work some kinks out of my neck, and go upstairs. I pack new hygiene products, underwear and socks, two extra shirts and a pair of pants. And TP and a trowel. Water purification tablets; I had a lot left over from when I was setting up. I also had life straws and packed dry prepared food. I had a mylar blanket and emergency tent. I unearth a couple of canteens; I'd give one to Cap with a life straw, then packed some supplies for him too. I figure I'd give him a head start, then take care of my tech and set off later. If my neighbors ever found out I'd cost them so much money by hiding Cap, they'd beat me within an inch of my life. If that. I add my passport, drivers license, the cash I had on hand, the debit card for my US bank in a ziplock bag and make a note to add my cell phone, Kindle, and the flexible solar chargers on my way out. I change clothes and get a few hours of shut eye.

The next day, I don't get many neighbors, but the gossip had spread. Everybody is talking about what they'll do with the money when they found Captain America. One of the men Cap described as snooping while I was in town shows up with one of his friends, and he pokes around while people pick up their work. I take in only two repairs, things that I could do easily today before I leave. I'm just starting to think things are ok when the nosy man shoves the salad bowl in my face and demands to know what it was. He doesn't want to believe that I was trying to make something to sell, but he's reluctantly pulled away by his friend who is convinced by the wood handles. They think it's ugly and impractically large, leave it to a woman to make something so stupid. But they leave.

I fix the two pieces of work I'd accepted and leave them at the end of the work bench. I move quickly and get the final coating on the salad bowl, working as fast as I dare to get it right before cranking up the forge and leaving it to heat. It will take a little longer than an hour at the highest temperature, then I can start backing down the temperature. It will be done a little after sundown, and Cap has to leave tonight. It's getting dangerous. I had to leave too.

I had treated some leather for the straps to last longer and not stretch out, so I cut those to length. I'd have to rivet them onto the salad bowl, but there were only eight of them, two for each end, maybe five minutes work at the end. I hide my go bag near the path I want to take on my way out and put the one for Cap on the cot. He was making himself scarce in the forest until it was time.

It is the tensest afternoon I've ever spent. I remember to put my cellphone, Kindle, and chargers into my bag and had nothing to do until sun down. I keep knocking down the temperature in the forge until I could just turn it off and open the door to let it cool. The sun is going down when Cap returned. I take the bowl out early; I can handle it fine but it is still too hot for Cap. I start to rivet the leather on so he could hold his shield; it smokes a little but it would be ok. Then I hear the engine of the truck I'd fixed recently.

"Listen," I mutter as I picked up the pace. "I've got some supplies for you in a messenger bag on your cot. Get it now. They're coming." I finish just as he returned with the bag and the truck roars into my clearing. I throw a towel to Cap so he could wrap his arm and hand just as my neighbors pile out, waving flashlights and an few honest-to-God torches.


	7. The rumble in the jungle. Ridiculous.

There's seven or eight of my neighbors; I can't quite see if there's somebody behind the bed of the truck on the other side. I can see men going after Cap, but it's the ones coming after me that worry me the most. That jerk who was asking all the questions about the salad bowl tries to take it away from me, but it's too hot and he falls back screaming, cradling his hands against his chest. Serves him right. I take a page from Cap's playbook and smack the next one in the gut with the shield. He falls over, vomiting. I'm beginning to see just why this is an awesome weapon.

But it's not meant for me; I sprint over to Cap and give him the shield; his arm is well-wrapped with one of the towels I use at work, so it's treated for heat resistance. I look around wildly but don't see anybody new coming through the forest; no new heat signatures, at least. I slide under my workbench and hit the self destruct button.

It's not as exciting as it would be in the movies; basically, it just triggers a big weight over the forge building, where the bad-ass solar panels are and where I stuffed my specialized equipment that I couldn't pack. The loud "crump" sound distracts everybody and I activate the defenses that are designed to irritate trespassers. I bolt for the edge of the clearing through all the chaos to where I left my pack and head out. I'm not a fighter, not since a fight with another girl in fourth grade, anyway. Cap is both trained and enhanced, so I'm not worried about him. I run into the forest.

It's not too long before the panicked sprint becomes a walk. I'm stronger and have more endurance than I did in the States, but metalworking isn't the same thing as cardio training. I try to wheeze quietly although I don't hear anybody coming after me or see any large heat signatures.

After the silence of the tropical night surrounds me again, I stop, have a drink of water, and check the compass in my watch to be sure I'm heading the right way. I'm closer to the Pacific than the Atlantic, so my goal is to get to the coast and head to Asia. I've never been, and as long as I avoid political hotspots, I should be able to relocate my operation. I can leave this country first and find a city, clean up, use a bit of the money from the Stark settlement for a hotel where I can get a bath while I plan my next move. This is sounding better and better. The next place I build is going to have a bath house.

I resume my trek, but I'm getting tired. The adrenaline surge left me worn out and I need a nap. I climb a tree, settle into the crotch of the branches, and close my eyes. I drowse until somebody says "Hi" from the ground below me.

My eyelids flip open and I look down in panic. I relax when I see the shield, still emitting a notable amount of heat. "Hey," I respond. I don't bother asking how he's found me.

I check the time; it's about half an hour before sunrise. I might as well move on, and climb down the tree. "So where are you heading?" Cap asks, and I summarize my plan. I eat a granola bar and sip some water. I need to be alert to food items as I walk; I'm not carrying enough food for the trek to the coast.

He nods. "Any specific reason you're going to Asia?" he asks, eating a granola bar himself. "Because if there's not, I have a friend in Africa who could help. You might not want to stay there, but you'd be safe while you investigated your options."

"It's farther to the east coast," I point out.

"Right," he says.

"I'm not much of a walker," I say. He just grins.

"It'll be good for you," he tells me encouragingly. Polite but tenacious, that's Cap. I think the map of the area over and sigh.

"Let's follow the river," I say. "We can take it to the coast, and there'll be more opportunities to find food along the way." It's not an insignificant consideration, and we head in the direction of the river. I'm not far off from where I think we are, and it isn't long before we're walking through the water. It's fairly shallow here and if anybody is tracking us, they'll lose us here. There's not much conversation as we slog along and I don't hear any noise of pursuit. We switch to the shore a couple of times, cutting across land when there's a big meander in the river or when the footing gets too uncertain. Toward the end of the day, we start looking for some place to camp. We talk it over and decide to risk a small fire.

I see what looks like a coffee can, discarded and caught up in some plants by the shore. It's not rusty, so it hasn't been there long, and we can boil water in it. I tuck it under my arm and turn back, just in time to see Cap striking something in the water with the edge of his shield. He leans forward and hauls out a pretty big, really ugly fish. It's a pirarucu, a type of catfish. Cap smiles when I tell him this.

"We'll have a good dinner," he says. "It's about forty pounds." We exit the river not long after when we see a likely campsite. I make a pit, build the fire and take a better look around to see if it looks like other animals might come by to challenge us at night, but it looks like we'll be ok, especially if we have the fire. Cap cleans the fish, coats it in mud, and puts it on the edge of the ashes to cook. I boil water in the coffee can and we use this first to wash up. I get another canful, let it boil, then pull it off to cool. The sediment will settle and we can fill our canteens for tomorrow. There isn't much conversation as we share the fish. It's pretty bland without any seasoning, but I'm hungry and don't really care.

I take the first watch and wake Cap when I'm too tired to stay awake. Aside from some rustling in the brush, we've been alone, and the fire has kept the animals at bay. In the morning, the sun comes up as we set off, having doused the fire. I fix the can to the top of my pack because you can't count on that kind of luck all the time. It's pretty tiring slogging through both the river and the shore, and once I sent Cap onto land when I felt some piranha trying to nibble. It's the dry season, and sometimes they can be dangerous. My skin is piranha-proof, so the most they can do is exfoliate a bit. Our luck changes a bit when we see a log floating past; we hang onto it and kick and progress is easier than walking. Faster, too. We pull it onto land at night.

It doesn't take too many more days to get close to where we want to be. We ditch the log and go to a fairly large town, where we buy some really delicious street food and clean up in a motel. It feels great to sleep on a real bed. So good, in fact, that I don't wake up until almost eight the next morning. I clean up, put on the clean clothes I had in my pack (the ones I washed out last night are still a little damp) and go out for breakfast. When I get back with a feast, Cap is up and we discuss our plans. We'll take a back road into the nearest big city, where we'll get another hotel room until we can get passage to Africa. It's going to be difficult because he's a wanted man. I think about this and go out again, returning with some temporary hair dye and self-tanner.

After judicious application of these products (I change the tanner around a little to make it look darker and more natural), I leave the hotel with a dark haired man with a good tan. The shield is the problem, it's big and bulky, but I've gotten some scrap wood and nails and make kind of a crate for it. It will break easily if necessary, but padded with grasses, it's not remarkable and a strap of rope on one side makes it easy to carry.

When we get to the city (we catch a ride for a good part of the distance) first we head to the port. The exit strategy is what it's all about. In retrospect, we should have gotten a motel room first, because somebody sees a big guy carrying a big square crate about the size of Captain America's shield and starts shouting. Somebody else grabs the edge of the crate and pulls it open. Then all hell breaks loose. Everybody wants the bragging rights and the money that comes from capturing Captain America. I hear sirens and know the police are coming.


	8. Out of the frying pan, into the highly advanced fire

We are so screwed, I have time to think as the crowd presses in and I'm shoved to the road. Then there's a weird noise and a fractured rainbow of light. I look up as the space suddenly clears and see Cap talking to a big blond guy who I recognize from the news as Thor. Great. This isn't inconspicuous at all.

Suddenly Thor turns, grabs me by the back of the neck, puts his hand on Cap's shoulder, and just like that, we're hurdling upward in that strange beam of light. Really really fast, and there are no safety devices and the experience is NOT PLEASANT.

Then space and time return to normal and I'm in a weird little hemispherical building that normally would be very interesting but I'm trying not to throw up in it. Thor releases his grip and I thud to the floor. As I get to my feet, I hear him asking Cap who I am.

"She helped me out," he says. "Made me a new shield." Thor grunts, looks at it, and dismisses it. I want to protest because that is a seriously awesome piece of work, completely unique, but at the same time, I'm in some weird place, probably Asgard, and I don't think I can get back home without some help. I decide to keep my mouth shut. As Cap brings Thor up to date on the situation back on Earth since Sokovia, I look around at the intricate patterns on the walls of the dome we're in. The craftsmanship is exquisite, but the formation of the metal is crude, your basic bash and smash school of metal working. There's an opening in the side of the dome that shows celestial bodies I've never seen before and kind of gives me the creeps, and in the center is a plinth kind of thing where a man in golden armor and holding a great big sword is looking us over calmly. I try to remember a book of Norse mythology I read after the battle for New York, before my accident, and deduce that this is Heimdall. Beyond him, I see a beautiful road of light leading from this observatory thingie to a golden city and some people approaching on foot.

I tune back into the conversation to hear Thor explaining that there's been an issue with his brother Loki pretending to be their dad, who is back in the Odinsleep. The problem is that he was doing a really good job of being the king, but nobody but Thor really likes Loki, and even Thor doesn't trust him, so he's locked up while they try to figure out what to do with him. And Thor's acting as regent until Odin wakes up, which is not what he's really wanting to do with his life. And his girlfriend broke up with him, so there's that too. Cap nods through the recitation.

The people I'd seen on the Bifrost burst into the dome. There's four of them-- a big stout guy with a beard, a blond guy who looks like Robin Hood, a dark-haired woman, and a man who looks Asian. The woman takes one look at me and groans. "Another one, Thor?" she complains and shoots me a WTF look. Thor looks confused, glancing between her and me.

"She's just a blacksmith," he says to her, then finishes up his conversation with Cap. Everybody turns for the door and I trail along after them. I'm stunned by the Bifrost, but the stout man takes my arm and we march along behind the others. I keep looking at it as we walk, marvelling in the beauty of the flow of electrons, expressed for anyone to see as multicolored flashes of light. I could just sit here and watch it until I pass out. We walk past a couple of places where it's all snarled, but it's still functional somehow. I don't know the source of the Bifrost or what it does, but it's absolutely mesmerizing. I want to fix the bad places and see what it's like when it runs freely and beautifully. I manage to fix a small snag as we pass by.

We enter the citadel gates and stop. Thor is addressing a knot of guards in that golden armor, then he, Cap, and his entourage walk away. One of the guards approaches me, looks down at me, and tells me to follow him. He takes me in a different direction to a little guest cottage. Unlike most of this place that I've seen so far, it's stone, not golden metal. He tells me that these will be my rooms, and that I should relax and refresh myself. He steps outside, closing the thick wood door behind him, and I look around. There's a fireplace, a large bed draped with hangings in a pretty dark green, tables on either side, a wardrobe, and a comfortable-looking chair. Through another door is a bathroom, with a massive soaking tub and what looks like a rainfall shower and the unmistakable outline of a toilet. Excellent. I make sure I know how it works before I need it. Everything is built on a very large scale that's appropriate to the size of my hosts, but which dwarfs me. I don't know how long I'll be here, but I take advantage of the situation and wash my clothes again, thoroughly, and drape them on the edge of the massive sink to dry. Then I take a bath myself, kind of drowsing. It's been a long, action-packed week or so. There are some nice-smelling toiletries, and the conditioner is fabulous. When I emerge, the sun has dropped considerably. I dig in my pack, finding my cell phone and Kindle still intact, but completely drained. I hook them up to the solar panel and place them on the windowsill. It should only take a few minutes to charge.

I flip the phone back into the pack when it was topped off. I'd unpack, but I'm wearing all my clothes that aren't drying in the bathroom. I settle for putting my toiletries in the bathroom and the pack in the wardrobe, and settle into the chair to do some reading. I have a lot of fiction to catch up on. In the rainforest, I mainly read technical material. I'm deep in a novel about a new superhero called Wearing The Cape when the door opens and a man who is not in armor comes in. He's come to get me for dinner, and I follow him into a huge hall filled with people. It's like a medieval banquet, complete with a head table. I'm deposited at another table far away and the man says he'll come get me after the meal. It's fairly quiet; people are served as they sit down and the head table remains empty. The food is delicious, and the server sends me back to my room with a covered plate. I thank him enthusiastically and find tiny herbed rolls and a mild cheese when I look. I read til late at night, snacking on my treats. The bed is unbelievably comfortable. I wake up to a maid who is returning the clothes I'd left to dry; they're pressed and look nicer than they did when they were new. She directs me back to the hall for breakfast, and when I return, escorted back and forth by a guard, the room is tidy again, the toiletries refilled. Nice.

This is how I spend the next few days, not leaving my room unless it's for a meal, and always escorted by a guard, who always discourage me from exploring. On the third day, I'm jolted by the novel experience of having company at the evening meal, and stunned to see Heimdall, who is looking at me as calmly as he did when I arrived here. Automatically, I adjust my vision to examine his armor but find no surprises. It's tough and pretty, but there's nothing special about it. He asks how I am in a rich deep voice that is very soothing.

I smile. "Very comfortable, thank you," I say, and thank the server who has come back with the dessert, which turns out to be a delicious pound cake.

"And what do you make of Asgard?" he asks as he is served.

"I haven't seen much, but what I've seen is lovely," I say. I tried to go down to the city earlier in the day to look around, but the guard still wouldn't let me.

"Thor has been busy with other matters and has not issued instructions regarding you," Heimdall says matter-of-factly. Personally, I'd be surprised if Thor even remembered I was here. "You seem to see farther than most people," he says, his startling gold eyes measuring me. 

"But not as far as others," I say. Now I know that he's the gatekeeper of the Bifrost, its guard and sentinel, and that he can see very far indeed.

"If it would interest you, I invite you down to the Bifrost," he says. "I am sensitive to its flow and it seems to respond to you." There's a small smile tugging at his lips, and I know that he knows that I did something to it. I waited for him to finish his dinner and accompanied him down, followed by my guard, who would not let me cross it. But that was all right with me; I could follow the flow just fine from the end at the citadel. Heimdall frowns at my guard and sends him away as I smooth a path a little. The guard retreated but did not leave.

"How did this get damaged?" I ask, sitting down just at the edge and touching it. It was smooth, feeling like a combination of plastic and glass, but the matrix that contained the energy was unknown to me.

"What makes you think it was damaged?" Heimdall asked, looking down at me. I tell him about the great snarls down by the observatory end and a faint trace of surprise crosses his face.

"Thor broke it while trying to prevent his brother from taking control of the energy and destroying a world," he finally said.

"Well, the repairs aren't bad, but they're certainly noticeable." He looks unenlightened. "Aren't they?"

"There was a small spike when you passed the other day," he said after a pause.

"I straightened a path, like unraveling a knot," I said, shrugging.

"Can you do that again?" he asked, his amber eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, it's not hard," I say, then wonder if I've said too much about what I can do.


	9. I am so bored

In the end, Heimdall tells my guard that he takes full responsibility for me, and we walk across the Bifrost. You'd expect it to be slippery, but it isn't. We get to the repaired part, and I point out the snarls and note that energy pools in them. Heimdall looks alarmed and asks if they're dangerous. I shrug.

"I don't know," I tell him. "I've never encountered anything like this before; I don't know anything about its properties beyond the fact that it contains an electron stream and allows the electrons, for the most part, to choose their course. In the oldest part, on the other side, it's like a stream where the electrons have carved their paths themselves. Here, a new chunk of the matrix has just been slapped on, joined by brute force, and the electrons kind of pool in the mess before they can exit." It's kind of like being stuck in a roundabout and not being able to exit due to traffic. I point out exactly where the worst of the damage is--there are three really big pools and one moderately large one; the rest are pretty small and these show signs of smoothing out on their own. I sit down and start to work, but it's not as easy as I first thought; the pools sometimes surge and I feel faint electrical shocks. Heimdall looks worried when I mention this.

"It shouldn't do that," he says. I spread my hands. It doesn't care about behavior, it just responds to natural laws, whatever they may be for this substance. I don't know; I'm a materials scientist, not a physicist, and I have no intention of asking to investigate it. I stop when I get a wicked headache, and Heimdall escorts me back down to my guard, and I go back to my room for the night.

This pattern holds for the next few nights, and once I learn to ignore the electrons and soften the matrix enough to let the electrons make their own straighter ways, the work goes faster, I can work longer, and the headaches are softer and less severe. Heimdall says he can feel the change in the power; it's more consistent and stronger. Finally I tell him that the Bifrost doesn't need my help anymore, and that's that. I've been very careful to not look to see the source of the electrons or where they go; I don't want to provide an excuse to keep me trapped here. And I especially haven't studied the Bifrost matrix. That has got to be a state secret.

The next night at dinner, the hall is full to bursting and for the first time, the head table is occupied. The rest of the diners are dressed finely, and I feel out of place, but all the clothing I have is practical and sturdy and I didn't bring a party dress for tramping through the jungle. I decide to keep my head down and get out fast; it's not an official banquet, it seems, just a big party. A party of Asgardians are seated at my table; they dismiss me with the label of "One of Thor's Earthlings," which I'm fairly certain is an insult, so I listen to their conversation while eating my dinner. They sound like the idle rich; if they have jobs, they certainly don't talk about them. Instead, they talk about the evening, how nice it is to have a reason to dress up, how fun Cap has been. Apparently, whatever they're doing, they take breaks at night to eat and relax a little. I eat as fast as I can without offending the servers; they take their jobs very seriously and they really want everybody to enjoy their meals and have a good time. The women take a break and ask me a few questions; they're shocked to find out my lifespan as theirs is thousands of years. My forty-odd years is bizarre to them, and they are pitying about my white hair and crows feet. I shrug. My grandma had snow white hair by the time she was fifty, and my mom was already getting white streaks in her late thirties when she was killed by a drunk driver. I have some great genes and some that are not so great. They dismiss me again and go back to gossiping about Sif's unrequited crush on Thor. She's apparently beyond the pale a bit because she trained to be a warrior, something that is quite uncommon in this male-dominated society. I restrain the eye-roll; Sif was only allowed the training because her family is noble and she had the support of the crown prince. She might be allowed to fight, but it doesn't mean that her choice is socially acceptable or that it's a challenge to the patriarchy here. She's the only named one in Thor's posse: "Lady Sif and the warriors three." Her title is noted; her status of warrior is not and this makes her sound like an accessory. But this is not my problem.

Finally I finish my dessert, my usual server hands me a packet of treats to take back to my room as is our custom now. I thank him, smile, and get up. I can hear the others tittering about me taking food away. If I'm honest, it hurts to be excluded by a group of women. Women have always been my best friends; guys are usually competition or bedmates. The thing I've missed the most since my accident is my supportive female friendships. I let them go when I turned into a freak. I edge toward the door and it's with relief that I feel the cool night air on my face. I start off toward my room, guard in tow--really? What harm could I possibly do? I'm literally the size of a child here and I don't get to go anywhere now that the Bifrost is fixed. I turn when I hear my name. It's the first time I've heard it on Asgard, I realize; even Heimdall never called me by name. It seems strangely humiliating, for some reason.

But I turn, and it's Cap. He's got Asgardian armor and blue clothing, complete with cape. He looks good in it, although kind of like he's playing dress-up. I'm too used to the images of him in the red, white, and blue costume, I guess. He asks how I've been, and I seize the opportunity.

"I'm fine, but I wondered if you could ask Thor if I can go now. Heimdall says he can send me back if Thor agrees, and I'd like to go, if not home, then at least to my home planet," I say, and he looks surprised. I want to yell at him; he's obviously having a great time, but then he's a warrior in a culture that reveres them and I'm...quite obviously not.

"This is probably the safest place for you," I say, and out of habit I check the metal of his armor, dropping my sight down so I can see the atoms. Then I realize I can see a little farther, a little way into x-ray. I have the sinking suspicion that fooling around with the Bifrost is messing with my mutations. I've got to get out of here before things start to get weird. Weirder. I also see that a treatment's been applied to the cloth of his new glad rags, but just now I'm more worried than interested. Another first for me. "But I'm under guard for no reason I can see, and I have nothing to do. Please." He looks at me for a moment, then agrees to bring it up as soon as he can. I smile and thank him. 

Back in my room, I find that I have a slice of the not-quite-a-poundcake that I like a lot, and as I nibble at it, I'm distracted by the hope that I'll get to go home soon. The freedom to do what I want and when I want to do it is frustratingly out of reach, and I'm not used to idleness. It would be nice to talk to somebody who actually says something back when I speak to them rather than just looking at me. When I sleep, I dream I'm back on Earth, setting up a new facility, equipping a storeroom, buzzing with happy activity.

When I get up the next morning, I'm escorted straight to Heimdall. As I enter the observatory, my pack on my back, he turns from the view of space and asks if I'm ready to go. I smile in anticipation. As Heimdall moves to the platform with the sword and thingie that turns on the Bifrost, someone runs into the room and I'm afraid that that they're going to tell me the trip's been cancelled, but the guard hands a satchel similar to a messenger bag to Heimdall, who then hands it to me.

"For your journey," he says, his voice rich and deep. I thank him, then ask if he'd convey my thanks to the servers in the dining hall for me. They were always nice, especially the one for the evening meal. He smiles at me and gestures to me to take my place in front of him. As he activates the Bifrost, I can see activity on the matrix, too far away to see who it is but they're definitely headed here. To my relief, I'm engulfed in the Bifrost energies and Asgard shoots away.


	10. Home again, and with a mission

When the world resolves around me again, I'm in a stall in a public bathroom. I whip out my smartphone and although the charge is way down, at least it's not exhausted this time. Bifrost travel apparently drains energy from my gadgets, but I'd turned it off. There's enough juice left to locate myself on a map, and apparently I'm in Innsbruck, Austria. This is good. Although I had two semesters of German in college, I'm not what you could call fluent but English is common here. I wander out and find that I'm at the airport, by a gate that has passengers debarking from a plane. Coincidentally (or not, who knows) the plane is from South America. I join the queue headed for customs, after which I pause for breakfast (didn't have any before the trip back) and check out the contents of the bag Heimdall gave me. 

The first thing I pull out is a piece of thick paper, folded into quarters, that shows a drawing of a cute little house in a mountain setting. It looks a little rundown, but it could be renovated into something amazing. I set it aside and find some pill bottles from a New York pharmacy in my name for high blood pressure and cholesterol. They're not mine (although now I'm realizing it's been a few years since my last checkup and who knows what they'd find) so I dial down my vision and see that the pills are actually samples of the Bifrost matrix material, concealed under a thin coat of sugar. There is also a torc; I examine it quickly and find that it's electrum, heavy on the gold component, with more than a trace of copper which gives it a faint greenish cast. It's beautifully wrought, twisted strands coming together in floral finials with green amber cabochons in the center. It's not worn down or anything, but somehow it gives the impression of age. I stuff it hastily back into the bag to avoid anybody seeing it. 

And there's a note.

"Since Thor acceded to the request of your companion with a promise allowing your permanent return to your realm, I thought to prepare a token of my thanks for repairing the Bifrost. The energy that flows through it is stronger and steadier as the result of your work, for which I wish to express my gratitude.

"Thor had indeed forgotten that he had brought you here, in the pressure from running the kingdom and reassuring the realms of Asgard's stability. Although Loki in disguise proved to be a surprisingly good ruler, no one likes to be deceived. Thor never asked what occupied your time while you were here.

"It is my hope that the materials in this pouch will provide you with entertainment. I chose this place to return you after a considered examination of your planet. The torc is an expression of my respect for you, but it would provide a source of funding should you require it for your projects."

I smiled a bit. He still didn't use my name, but now it would have felt a little awkward to start. There was quite a lot to decode in the brief message. First, if Thor didn't ask what I did while I was there, he doesn't know what I can do, Cap didn't tell him either, and this part feels like a warning. Second, Heimdall referred to a promise made by Thor to return me to Earth, and if there's anything that I picked up about Asgardians other than their veneration of warriors, their strict patriarchy, and very high opinion of themselves, it's that they take their obligations seriously and promises are meant to be kept. They're not made often, so Heimdall has secured a very valuable gift for me. If Thor find out about my abilities, he can't bring me back without breaking his promise, and I'm going to keep this paper as proof of the promise, should it ever be required.

As far as the items, I didn't think Heimdall had a sense of humor. The Bifrost matrix will be a considerable source of information and allow me to test my abilities manipulating it. Payback for my work indeed. I can't imagine that he thinks that a toilet stall will be a great place for my return; this must be a reference to the cabin in the drawing. All I need to do now is find it and find out why he thinks it's suitable. Maybe it's just remote and my work would be safe from casual interest.

The torq is exquisite and I could very well sell it for a heck of a lot of money if I had to. But I've got ten hefty figures sitting in the bank as a result of that settlement plus investments (it turned out that Tony Stark irritates practically everybody, including the mediator who resolved the suit) and I shouldn't need to sell it. I like the look of it; It's small enough for my neck, which means it was originally meant for a child or as a bracelet. It's dainty instead of the more massive items most Asgardians wear, and it's not ornate, so I could actually wear it around. 

I finish my breakfast with satisfaction. It's good to be home, in a general sense--I've never been to Europe personally. There's just something undefinable that just says "Earth" to me, and although most of my fellow travelers are dressed kind of tackily, unlike Asgardians, I'm still relieved to be back. I sip orange juice and look at my drawing, trying to find some reference points I can use to search. I can't believe Heimdall would have put me here if the target was on another continent. My waitress comes by to fill up my coffee cup (another reason to love being home) and sees the drawing.

"That's a beautiful area," she tells me, and I ask where it is. She looks surprised at the question.

"A friend of mine made this while on a trip of Europe," I lie. "He forgot where this was, but I wanted to find it if I could, it's so lovely." The waitress smiles at me.

"It looks like it's in the area between Salzburg and Hallein," she says, pointing out a mountain in the background that looks familiar to her. "I took a river tour with my boyfriend last summer, and this looks like the mountains that I saw from the Salzac." I thank her, and when I've finished the coffee, I add a generous tip when I hand her payment for my bill. When I leave the airport, I head straight to the railway station. It will take a little over two hours to get to Salzburg.


	11. In which I find my target

I enjoy the train ride to Salzburg and take the opportunity to recharge my devices and get on the internet to research the area. I find out that Hallein has the oldest salt mine in the world that is open to visitors, some 7000 years old, and it sounds like an interesting tour, with slides down into the mine and a boat ride on an underground lake. It's not one of the salt mines that were used by the Nazis to store looted art, but I've been on alert since the waitress identified the general location of the house in the drawing. It doesn't seem coincidental that I've been put down in a part of the world so strongly identified with World War II--Berchtesgaden is close by--and Captain America.

When I get to Salzburg, I find a hotel and discuss the area with the concierge. Although it's not a large region, strictly speaking, it's huge when you're trying to find one particular small building. I go out for some sightseeing and to think. Salzburg is lovely and historical and there's a lot to do. I join a bus tour and hit some of the highlights. Americans always seem to be impressed by the sheer age of Europe; I think it's because we don't have the monuments and grand buildings. The native Americans left some impressive monuments behind, like Chaco Canyon, but they're remote, rightly protected, and there aren't very many of them. In Europe, history built on itself and people live with it every day. And it's often highly ornate and huge, impressive qualities in themselves. By the time the tour is over, I have a plan. I have my dinner, stroll around for awhile, and return to the hotel fairly early. Travel by Bifrost doesn't really agree with me and I'm exhausted.

The next morning, after breakfast, I find myself a real estate agent. The woman I've researched is happy to find that I've got a fondness for the area and a chunk of cash to spend on some property. I describe what I'm looking for: a small house, off by itself, with a good view of the mountains. There aren't that many, and off we go on a tour. The house in Heimdall's picture is the sixth of seven. It's been used mostly as a vacation cottage in the past but has been unoccupied for the past decade. It's been kept structurally sound, and when we go in, I see it has a main room, a kitchen that doesn't look all that trustworthy, a full bathroom, and three smaller rooms. It has some lovely Jugendstil details and windows that look out onto the property. It's actually up on the mountain, so there isn't much of a view of that, but the forest around it is lovely. The property is five acres and it's been fenced in over the years and posted as private property. It's fairly isolated and very quiet. I find out that it backs up directly to the salt mine. There are a couple of outbuildings on the property, which we glance at but I deliberately don't seem that interested in. This is the spot, no doubt about it, and I'm just grateful the building is in good shape and so pretty on a personal level. I take a deep breath of crisp mountain air and suppress a shiver; until very recently I was in a hot, humid rainforest and this air feels freezing to me even though we're firmly in a beautiful spring.

"I'll take it," I tell her, and although she's a little surprised by my snap decision, she doesn't argue. We head back to the office to get things in motion. After that, I open an account in an Austrian bank and arrange a transfer of funds from my American bank, set up appointments with some contractors to modernize the kitchen and bath and to make sure the house is insulated with good windows--if I'm going to live back in the world, I'm going to have a bathtub and a nice kitchen, darn it. Then I hit the stores and buy some warm clothing. The next day I go to find myself some transportation. I'm not quite sure what possesses me, but a good salesman convinces me that a Mercedes GLE SUV is just what I need, highlighting the all wheel drive, safety features, and low fuel consumption.

The next few days, the realtor is very helpful in getting me an Austrian drivers license and setting up an interview with the authorities to get a residency permit; I fill out the Niederlassungsbewilligung form and pay the fee. I suspect my realtor has had a chat with the official, because the interview goes well and smoothly, and he offers to expedite my application. It's all going well; the seller of the property hasn't has an offer for it in the past ten or eleven years and couldn't be more eager to sell. The realtor goes with me to discuss modifications and repairs with a highly-recommended renovation firm. Some electrical work is needed and the plaster is really iffy, so despite the historical tradition, it's determined that we might as well take down the walls, modernize the electrical, put up drywall. The floors are to be refinished, the chimneys repaired, new central heating installed. And that's just the structural. Fortunately, the plumbing is in great shape. Then we talk about new cabinets in the kitchen (there have been mice chewing on them) and I will need new appliances. The bathroom also has some damage, but one of the men says that they have a great idea for renovation and will draw up some plans.

They start work as soon as the sale of the property goes through. The bathroom is expanded outward with a kind of half-octagonal tower and conical roof. There are skylights and windows for a lot of light since there are no neighbors to look in and it's very well posted as private property besides the fence. Inside there is a Gothic vaulted ceiling, separate bathtub and shower, and a double sink, mostly for the eventual resale value. The shapes of the bathtub, sinks, and toilet are clean and modern, but the fixtures and accent tiles are in the Jungenstil style to tie in with the rest of the house. The master bedroom is also bumped out the back, allowing for a walk-in closet (kind of a waste since I don't have much in the way of clothing), skylights, and beautiful stained glass windows. The tower shape is echoed here as well and there's a luxurious window seat inside that. I get a new on-demand water heater, highly efficient washer/dryer, dishwasher, refrigerator, stove, and microwave. The work goes well and quickly, with few hiccups. It helps that I've got enough money invested to make my happiness a priority, and I added a bonus for on-time completion into the contract. While this is going on, I explore the property.

It's not until the renovations are almost complete that I find the reason Heimdall pointed me here. There's a metal door set into a rocky outcrop, pretty well concealed with weeds and climbing vines. There's a locking mechanism that's rusted shut, so I have to spend a few days setting it to rights, but finally I'm able to open the door and go inside the mountain.


	12. Secret lairs. And stuff.

I look around with an excess of caution before I ease the door open. Nope, nobody around, and I check a few different ways to be sure. I open the door just enough to slip inside, trying to disturb the vegetation as little as possible.

Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't this. This is a small antechamber with a spiral staircase. Going down, of course. I shake the metal staircase, gently at first, then with vigor, to see if it's rusted, but it seems to be intact. It's steel, which seems a little weird that it hasn't rusted, but there's a whiff of brine and I remember there's a lot of salt in the area. Salt is a desiccant. Carefully I take the winding staircase down.

It's pitch black; I'm having to use the flashlight app on my phone. It's not illuminating a lot; all I've got right now is a shaft bored through the solid rock. Finally, my foot touches a different surface and I look down to find not the cast steel plates with pierced hexagons but a solid surface; I dial back down and see that it's heavy aluminum. It's dry, cold, and dusty. I look to my left, shining the light on the wall and find a big-ass electrical switch, the kind you find in the movie lairs of mad scientists who are working with electricity. You know the kind; a coated metal handle that has two wide-set legs and a contact point. I go ahead and throw it, because why not? I am completely unprepared for light.

High above, lighting fixtures start to glow; some of the bulbs pop, but that's not surprising. I snort; everything about this place is one big surprise. I wait for the bulbs to warm up, then switch off the flashlight and start to look around. 

Be damned if it isn't actually a laboratory of some kind. It's creepy; there are papers and notebooks all over the place, as if the people just left. The circular chamber itself is fairly small, maybe a hundred meters, with a high ceiling of maybe twenty meters. In the rock are pale streaks; I investigate and see that they're deposits of salt that must not be big enough to mine but are large enough to keep things dry down here. Against the wall to my right is what must be the generator, but it doesn't look like anything I've ever seen. Looking it over, there's a hemispherical metal shield that I can push up that's surrounded by dials. There's something in there that emits a strong blue-white light. I go back to the switch and shut it off; the light doesn't go out. All the dials except for one hit zero again; the sole exception is reading at one hundred percent. I turn the lights back on and the other dials spin up again, reading at considerably less than their maximums. Huh.

I turn to the benches, which are reassuringly familiar; wooden cabinets with black-enameled tops, lines for gas, air, and vacuum and water taps. I cautiously pick up a lab book and look at the cover: black with a white circle and red swastika. My lip curls. If this was a Nazi lab, as looks likely, then the testing could literally involve anything. The paper is dry and brittle, and I don't want to take it out of the lab for fear of what the change in conditions would do to it. There are two names mentioned on a randomly-chosen page: Abraham Erskine and Johann Schmidt. There's the word for radiation, and a list of organic compounds and elements, including potassium, divided into two sections. I can't read the notes. The penmanship in the lab books is very good, the ink unfaded, but once again I'm cursed by my difficulty with language. I'd taken German in college because for a long time, the best science was done in Germany. French is traditionally the language of diplomacy, but if you want to read original historical scientific work, your best bet's German. But because I ended up specializing in materials science rather than chemistry, I never really used it. I was going to have to study before I came back. There was no reason to touch anything else until I knew what was being worked on here. There were cabinets to explore, but caution was definitely advised. A coat was also advised; it was pretty cool down here. And probably gloves, maybe those fingerless ones or mitts. I took another glance around, lingering over that generator. I knew without even looking that I wasn't going to find out anything about it in existing literature. Finally I flipped the switch and went up. There wasn't a way to check outside before exiting, so I left the entrance quickly. I didn't expect to find anybody outside--it was pretty well marked as private property, but trespassers were a possibility. And now that I knew there was something to hide I was paranoid. I sealed the door behind me carefully when I left.

I reviewed my history as I walked back to the house. Under Frederick II, German universities began to promote the study of the sciences, inasmuch as they were in the beginning of really developing the disciplines and the scientific method. The University of Gottingen in particular was liberal and emphasized research and publication. It also abandoned Latin and encouraged the use of vernacular German instead. There were academies and societies where mathematics were featured. There were public lectures where exciting new discoveries were demonstrated, especially with electricity, and these helped to popularize science. Of course, this was all designed for men. Even Rousseau, one of the leaders of the Enlightenment held to the opinion that "a woman's education must... be planned in relation to man." Pig. That is, if she was educated at all. Most women weren't, although there were notable exceptions, such as Ykaterina Dashkova. Most women were able to work because of their relationships to husbands, fathers, or brothers, such as Marie-Anne Paulze, who was the wife of Antoine Lavoisier. As industry grew, you had world-famous companies like Bayer in Germany, and they performed extensive research in addition to manufacturing products, dominating the chemical industry by the turn of the twentieth century. Then there was WWI, the "chemists' war." Wartime shortages meant that sources of raw materials and products had to be changed which led to innovation, both in ways to get the materials to make critical things like nitric acid, but also the creation of new products. But the darkest side was the research, creation and use of chemical weapons. Chlorine gas was first used at Ypres and was followed by phosgene and mustard. The gases didn't need to kill to have a huge impact; soldiers were also casualties from lung irritation and damage to eyes and skin. And there was a huge negative psychological impact.

After WWI, Belgian, British, French, and American scientists stopped using German in their works and switched to English and French. The German scientists were boycotted, they weren't allowed to attend conferences or publish internationally. Then WWII came, and they were at the disadvantage. They still had fine minds to use, even after Jewish scientists left or were imprisoned. WWII was the physicists' war due to the atomic weapons the US had, but there were other crucial avenues of research, including rocketry, and other countries, including Germany, had worked on atomic bombs. Research and development went into high gear. Other sciences weren't neglected during this war. The most horrible research was done by the Germans and Japanese on prisoners, who gave no consent and did not volunteer; the were often left with permanent disfigurement or disability--if they didn't die. At Auschwitz, the genetics of twins were researched. In Ravensbruck, bone, muscle, and nerve regeneration experiments were conducted, without anesthesia. Head trauma; hypothermia, hyperthermia and malaria at Dachau, immunization; mustard gas at Sachsenhausen, sulfonamide at Ravensbruck, salt water; poison; sterilization; incendiary bombs at Buchenwald; high altitude and blood coagulants were also tested at other camps and data recorded and studied. The Japanese did extensive testing in their Unit 731, biological weapons. Upping the revulsion engendered by the mere existence of the experiments themselves, some of the Axis research into hypothermia and biological weapons was used by Allied powers after the war. Waste not, apparently; the research was valuable although it would be illegal to replicate. There had been a specific trial in Nuremburg after the war, the so-called Doctors' Trial. 

All in all, the discovery of a secret Nazi lab was not an awesome thing.


	13. Mixing business with pleasure

Honestly, knowing I had a secret Nazi lab in my backyard freaked me out. There wasn't any reason to hurry to deal with it, so I took my time. I I acquired some German dictionaries, a modern one, one published in 1950, one published in 1932, an English/German German/English dictionary. And there were things about living in the world again that I hadn't counted on. Unlike the jungle, people wanted to know about you and why you came here. I didn't want to be a weirdo American, I wanted to fit in. I needed to socialize some, and I needed work, because I sure as hell wasn't going to explain the accident to a bunch of strangers.

I found the blacksmithing course by accident. I'd seen it on a tour I took of the area. A mastercraftsman had a workshop where he sold wrought iron items and took custom orders. There was good money in it, and I would prefer to earn my living expenses rather than relying on the settlement. He offered periodic classes, and I signed up for the summer session, prompted in part by Thor's dismissive label. I found that I really liked it and I had a talent for it. It was a whole lot more work than I was used to, though, but it didn't take long to build upper body strength. It was a secret comfort that I wouldn't have to worry about burns, but I kept that to myself and was scrupulously careful in class. It also gave me an excuse to create my own forge at home. I put it in the back yard, on the way to Secret Nazi Lair (SNL, as I was calling it). One reason that I was interested in creating wrought iron for the home was an incident I'd had shortly after discovering SNL.

I'd emerged from the garage with a spade; it was my intention to create some flower gardens. I'd just pushed the blade into the earth when up the driveway came two men. They weren't particularly memorable, but something about them put me on edge. Maybe it was the way they didn't look around at the property but came toward me like they knew the grounds well. I pulled the spade out of the ground and called to them in German that this was private property and they'd have to go.

In English, one of them said they just wanted to see the place now that it had been fixed up. I repeated that it was private property and not open for tours. The other man scanned the area and I'd swear he looked at the direction to the SNL slightly longer.

"My mistake," he said, and without rushing, they turned around and left the same way that they'd arrived, focused and determined.

I'd met my neighbors; there were a few other houses in the area although they were mostly used for vacations in the summer and winter; there was a ski area not far away. I'd gotten excellent tips about who to hire to keep my driveway plowed in the winter and other important local information. At a cocktail party a week later, I mentioned the men casually, but nobody seemed to know them. One of the women, a retired judge, advised me to have a security system installed, even though it would take time for the police to get here in the case of an emergency. I had that done, and I worked with my teacher as well to make bars for the windows. Sure, they were attractive and suited the house, but they were there for security. The front and back doors were wood two inches thick, with sturdy hinges and really substantial locks, so I felt pretty secure there. I had outside security cameras and a video screen by the door installed, though. If someone is determined enough, they're going to get in, but I hoped that my security measures would delay them enough until help arrived. I felt an unease in my seclusion for the first time. I had my neighbors over for drinks to reciprocate their hospitality later in the summer and there was a lot of interest in my work. Within ten days, I had commissions to create similar window security for three neighbors.

It was good to have social interaction, I had to admit. I get weird when I'm by myself for too long. And recognizing this, I made more of an effort to leave my house and do things. I went into Salzburg to do the tourist thing in more depth and spent time in antique stores looking for items with Jungendstil details for my home. My German must be crap, because every time I spoke in German, the other person courteously replied in English. I took a trip to Vienna and explored their desserts as well as the culture. I went to Berlin for a week. I had a ball, visiting the Brandenburg Gate, the remains of the Berlin Wall, and other icons, but where I really went to town was in the museums. I went to the Alte Nationalgalerie, showing art from the Neoclassical to early Modernism, the Altes Museum that featured antiquities, the Neues Museum, where the incomparable bust of Nefertiti is on display, the Pergamon Museum, where the Ishtar Gate and the Pergamon altar are kept, the Berlin Energy Museum, the Brohan Museum that held art and design in the Art Nouveau, Art Deco, and Functionalism styles, the Charlottenberg Palace because it was pretty, the German Museum of Technology--science and technology, the Memorial to the German Resistance, and Topography of Terror, devoted to the Secret State Police, the SS, and the Reich Security.

There was nothing in the Energy Museum or the science and technology museum remotely like the mystery generator in the SNL. However, Topography of Terror had a WWII display that mentioned one Johann Schmidt, a former bellhop who was personally trained by Hitler to head his terrorist activities and given a unique uniform. He was recruited by HYDRA to lead their deep-science division, and after consenting to medical experimentation that left him deformed, probably completely whacko, and banished by Hitler because he was decidedly non-Aryan looking, he left the Nazi party and established HYDRA as its own force. And he was defeated somehow by Captain America.

Before I went home, I went to the German Federal Archives. There was precisely one mention of Abraham Erskine, in connection with a serum designed to enhance a human subject. Being Jewish, he was forced to flee his university position, and the record notes a gap where nobody knows where he was for a period of five years. The formerly classified document says that he surfaced in New York after that period, working for the Strategic Scientific Reserve and a British woman named Peggy Carter before being assassinated by a HYDRA agent. 

I needed to talk to Cap. Unfortunately, there's no cellphone reception in Asgard.


	14. Decisions

I wasn't sure what to do next, and there's no point jumping into something without planning, so I sat on the bunker and its contents. I had other things to do; I was working on the wrought iron for my neighbors, trying to better my German, and I was doing some sightseeing through Europe as the weather permitted; it was a stormy summer. I kept an eye on the news; predictably, the Sokovia Accords fell apart fairly quickly. China didn't want the Avengers in its territory at all and began recruiting for an all-Chinese version that could be controlled by its government and operated in its interests. Nobody wanted to have to deal with infrastructure repair and replacement after the Avengers were deployed, so they twiddled their thumbs while the bad guys did their thing with impunity. I shook my head and wondered why Tony Stark didn't start working on weapons that were non-lethal and restricted property damage; that guy in the weird suit with the spider sigil proved that it could be done, and done well. And frankly, Stark could use a clear win. The people who bitched that the Avengers were too dangerous uncontrolled now bitched because the authorities refused to use them. And Tony Stark, the public face of the Avengers now that Cap was in Asgard, was being blamed for not doing something about it. I'd feel badly for him, but he rushes into things without figuring out the consequences. He doesn't just react, he overreacts. And his tendency to mea culpa means that he makes bad decisions trying for atonement.

The stormy summer gave way to a cold, wet autumn. The leaves on the trees didn't change as much as usual, which was disappointing; I've always loved fall for the fiery spectacle the trees put on. My fireplaces had a gas line run to them so I could use gas or burn wood. I liked the gas when I didn't want to spend hours at night waiting for it to go out, but for an all day fire, I liked to use wood. There were a couple of downed dead trees on the property; I'd gotten a chain saw to cut them into chunks and split them into appropriately sized pieces with an ax. On the advice of a neighbor, I'd gotten an arborist in to check for disease in the trees of the property; he identified a few that should be cut down to age and successfully treated the few trees that had disease or pests. I had a company fell the selected trees so they could begin drying out for use as fireplace fuel in years to come. I was looking forward to winter in the Austrian Alps and had bought a down comforter for my bed and those in the guest rooms. I'd not really thought of guest rooms when I moved in, but once I started reentering modern society, I'd contacted old friends who were glad to hear from me and made noises about visiting, so in a fit of optimism, I'd made guest rooms. I hadn't had any other plans for them; I'd been traveling light and didn't have a lot of stuff to deal with. Toward the end of the summer, one of my good friends from college had made a side trip on a Paris vacation just to see me for a few days. It was a lot more fun than I'd been expecting, and I hoped to host her and other friends in the future. 

I didn't lose sight of my main goal, though: figuring out what to do with the SNL. Before I started going there again to study it, I set up a battery powered tiny camera for remote surveillance, placed in a tree set back from the great metal door. I could access the feed with my smart phone and set it to alert me anytime something crossed in front of the door. I got to see a lot of wildlife.

One day after a big storm, I started at the driveway and began walking the perimeter fence, checking for damage. On the edge of the property closest to SNL, I surprised two men and they ran. I thought they might be the men who had come up to me that day when I was starting my flower beds. I felt that they were on my property for a reason, and that reason probably was the SNL. There had been a little bit more information to be had, and none of it good, declassified notes about failed trials of the serum, a bit about personnel involved, but it was incomplete information. If this was the Super Soldier serum, it had been trialed on German volunteers who had suffered and died because of it. Erskine seemed to be the man who knew the most about that project, and it was rumored that he'd tested a version on Johann Schmidt, turning him into Red Skull. It seemed most likely that Erskine had been the one who treated Steve Rogers. So this serum was dangerous but it could be made to work. The work down in the bunker wouldn't be the apex formula that produced Captain America, but it could provide somebody a big head start if they wanted to start experimenting with it. I dithered over what to do, but once I realized that volunteers wouldn't be like Cap, with his unshakable integrity, I knew what I needed to do.

I was down at the town store, doing the weekly shopping, when I saw one of the men who had come on my property that day. No mistake. He didn't see me see him, but I couldn't discount the possibility that his partner was watching me. I went on with my day like nothing had happened, but I felt like time was running out. The next day I went up the hill, in a warm coat with thin gloves, with a powerful flashlight in my backpack. I moved confidently over the ground to the rocky outcropping with the door, where I opened the door, stepped in, and closed the door, sealing it behind me for safety. When I got down to the bottom, I flipped the switch and gathered every fragment of paper I could find, putting it in my backpack. I wasn't going to use that research and didn't want anybody else to either, so it was best that I not read any of it. Then I took out the flashlight and went through the benches and cabinets. I found a storage cabinet of minerals and compounds in old-fashioned amber glass apothecary jars, clearly labeled; they were things you could find in any organics lab. There was glassware everywhere, mostly handblown and really nice. If I ever went back to lab work, I'd kill to have that glassware. Ok, not kill, but I might try to beat somebody up for it. I opened every drawer and looked for doors, but this one room looked like that was all there was. The only thing I found was located in a lockbox in what might have been the lab manager's desk; it was set off to the side and up on a platform where a person could look over the whole operation.

I persuaded the metal box to open; within was a single large test tube of a weird blue liquid. It matched an eyewitness account of the serum. The serum was water-soluble; the eyewitness account of one botched test said that unused serum had been disposed of down the drain. I uncorked the tube and very carefully emptied it into a water drain, then recorked it and returned it to the box and the desk drawer. Satisfied, I went over to the power switch, turned it off, and fused the switch. I was almost at the stairs when, incredibly, I heard the door opening above me.


	15. The big reveal, and other surprises

I didn't have a lot of time; I could hear people descending the stairs and there seemed to be two flashlights. I hid behind the staircase, crouched down, grateful for the hood on my navy wool coat. My pack was on my back with all the paper and my flashlight. As the footsteps descended, I made my plan. Up the stairs, carefully, grab the surveillance camera out of the tree on the way back to the house, run like hell, call the authorities, burn the paper in the fireplace. I squeezed my eyes shut and stayed motionless as the two stepped off the staircase and moved into the room. I waited until they were headed toward the manager's area and slowly and carefully crept up the stairs. I made it to the top without anyone following me, then I saw how they'd gained access; they'd cut through the door with an acetylene torch. I accidentally stumbled as I stepped through the opening, and fearing that they might have heard me, put my plan into action. It was almost sundown, making everything scarier, but I only tripped once on my way back home. I fumbled the key but got it in, not bothering to turn off the alarm system, locking the door behind me and racing for the fireplace. I opened the backpack as the alarm went off, and dumped everything onto the grate, shaking it out to remove the smallest fragments of paper before fishing out the flashlight and hitting the on switch for the gas insert. The flames leapt over the paper, brittle with age. I saw the swastika on a notebook cover curl up and fall off; underneath it was the red HYDRA symbol. What was up with that? I wondered dully as I urged everything to burn faster. A hydra was supposed to have a lot of heads; they'd used an octopus for the symbol. Cut off a hydra's head, more would take its place. Cut off an octopus's leg, and you've just maimed a sea creature.

It didn't take long for the papers to become crumbling ash. I turned off the gas and built a wood fire with tinder and kindling to disguise the other ashes, then called the police as I lit it. I was freezing with fear. I gave the police an edited version of my afternoon: I'd seen a door in rock on my new property when I'd been checking the fence line and decided to do some exploring today. While I was in there, two men I'd encountered before entered behind me. I'd gotten out and came home to call. As I was talking, the alarm and the lights cut off. The policeman asked if I'd done it, and I said no. He told me to stay inside, make sure everything was locked, they were on their way. I grabbed the flashlight and went to stand by the door, grateful for its thickness and solidity, trying to control my reactions and think things through, not reacting from fear although I was pretty scared. Just as I put my back to it, somebody pounded on it and yelled for me to open up. I stood motionless after the initial jerk of surprise. I could hear them as they moved around the house, pulling on the ironwork over the windows, trying to find weak points.

They finally found one. The kitchen window yielded slightly, and they pried the ironwork off. The glass shattered. I could hear someone climbing over the counter and sink that were in front of the window, and I threw the lock and opened the door. Out on the porch, someone grabbed my arm and backhanded me; I tripped and staggered back. The oncoming headlights caught my attacker--one of the men who'd wanted to look around-- as he raised his hand to hit me again. The cars stopped and doors flew open, and the police commanded that he step away from me. One of them--there were two cars, with two officers each--came up to me, but I said there was one in the house, and they went in. It wasn't long before they came back; he would have left when he heard cars. I saw them handcuff the man who had hit me and stick him in the back of one of the patrol cars. We all went inside and they questioned me in more detail about what had happened. They asked about the fire; I said that I'd wanted to warm up, and stirred the ashes with the poker. The tinder and kindling had burned out since I hadn't put logs on, and I shivered. It wasn't for show; the night air was cold, cooling off the house, and events were taking their toll. Two of the officers asked if I'd show them the SNL (they didn't call it that, though), and while the other two stayed behind, I grabbed my flashlight and up we went. At the door, I saw the torch setup I'd stumbled over and shook my head, grabbing for the wheel, quickly unfreezing the mechanism, and after a few tugs and a screech of metal, showed that the door could open in order to support my story. We went inside and I said I didn't want to go down. The two police went down the stairs quickly for a look around. They came up, puzzled; nobody had reported this site to the authorities, it had been lost since the war. One man stayed behind while the other came back to the house with me. The other two police officers had found a piece of plywood in my shed while I was gone and boarded up the broken window. The policewoman came inside with me after suggesting that I spend the night elsewhere. That sounded good and I went to pack. She asked if she could take a look around, and I agreed. I hadn't written anything down and there was nothing incriminating.

It didn't take long to pack for an overnight stay, and I locked up behind us. The policewoman drove down to the first hotel on the way with me; one of the police cars followed us to bring her back. She told me to check in at the police station the next morning before I went home so they could get my statement. I registered at the hotel, ate some dinner in the dining room, then went up to my room.

I had a terrible night. I kept waking up at the littlest noise. I had a some breakfast before going to the police station, where I went over my story a few times with them before writing out my statement and signing. They told me that they'd called an electrician to fix the mess they'd made of my power box, that the second man hadn't come back, and that national authorities were already up looking at my bunker.

I went home. The authorities were leaving, having finished a preliminary look around, and I said they were welcome to go up any time they wanted. The electrical had been repaired and a bill left under my door, so I called the company and paid over the phone with a credit card, then made an appointment to have my window fixed. They'd be over the next day. Then, finally alone and needing to relax, I ran a bath, adding a generous amount of bubble bath and pulled up my 80's playlist. The water was hot, and I slid down to my chin, eventually nodding off as my muscles loosened and the lack of sleep caught up with me.

I woke up abruptly when somebody tapped on the window.


	16. That tricky bastard

I woke with a start, forgetting for a moment that I had fallen asleep in the bathtub and startled by the faces looking in at me. Damn it, privacy, people! No trespassing! Cap flushed and turned away when I sat up. Realizing what I had done, I pressed myself to the side of the tub and waved them away. "Go away!" I yelled.

Thor, the only one of us not bothered in the slightest, said calmly, "We will go to the front door." I waited until I could see them go around the corner, then I hopped out of the tub and threw on my robe, then rethought this. They scared the bejezus out of me, they could wait while I got dry and clothed. While I didn't loiter, I didn't go full speed either, despite the adrenaline rocketing through my system.

I stomped out to the door. "Greetings!" Thor started, but I smacked him and yelled at them both about decency, privacy, and why nobody wants to be woken up by people looking at her in the bathroom.

"Why are you yelling?" Thor asked, genuinely baffled. I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead in frustration.

"You scared me!" I shouted some more. "And I'm embarrassed."

"I saw nothing of which you should be embarrassed," Thor said, apparently in a ham-handed attempt to reassure me. "May we come in?" I gave up and stood aside.

"Why were you afraid?" Cap said, ignoring the whole bathroom debacle, which I was also willing to forget. "Why is there a piece of plywood over the window?"

I realized an explanation would take awhile. "Does anybody want a drink?" I offered. Both of them accepted whiskey, which surprised me a bit for some reason. After giving them their beverages, I slammed a shot and took a beer out of the refrigerator. What can I say? I'm an American. Cap's eyebrows rose.

"So when I left Asgard, I ended up in Innsbruck. I found this house while looking around," I said, glossing over Heimdall's role in this. I didn't want to get him in trouble after he'd done me a favor, even if the benefit of the favor was up for grabs currently. Thor nodded.

"Heimdall said he'd given you a task," he noted, and my lip curled.

"I might note that a) I didn't need a task, b) an explanation would have nice, as would have been c) more data," I said tartly. "I had a drawing of this place and found it and bought it. And renovated it, it needed help. When I was looking around, I found a WWII era facility hidden toward the back of the property." I looked at Cap. "It was a lab that was apparently working on the Super Soldier serum."

"What?" he asked, looking shocked.

"Yep," I confirmed, then went on with the story. When I got to the part about why I went back to the lab, I paused for a moment and scanned the environment, looking for anomalous power use, but saw none, so the police hadn't bugged the place while I was gone. I'm pretty sure I would have gotten in trouble for destroying the research, and I didn't want to be kicked out of Austria. I couldn't detect any bodies outside, and parabolic mikes wouldn't work through the trees. I mentally slapped myself. Paranoid much?

"I went inside, locked the door behind me. When I got downstairs I turned on the lights and collected all the notes, putting them in my pack, then looked around. Aside from some chemicals and glass ware, nothing was in the lab." I hesitated, then decided to spill it. "I did find a sample of what I presumed to be Super Soldier serum in a lockbox and poured it down the drain. When I was getting ready to come up, I heard people coming in. They'd gotten the door open, so I hid and went up after they were farther in the facility." I omitted telling them about the terror that rode me as I crept up the stairs, the adrenaline creating a strong urge to run. My personal feelings were private, not for a strange alien to dissect. "I made it home and burned the notes. Then the men broke the kitchen window and came in. The police got here in the nick of time." I shook my head and drained my beer. Then I looked at Thor. "Maybe you know something about the generator, maybe you've seen something like it somewhere else." I described it to him and his face got tight.

"That's HYDRA technology," Cap said tensely.

"It is made from the Tesseract," Thor corrected him brusquely. "I need to take it back." I thought about what I'd seen of the generator, and thought that I could get into the power source easily enough.

"It's containing the matter that's the problem," I said slowly. Thor frowned.

Cap interrupted and wanted to know what I'd seen of the notes, why I'd destroyed them.

"I didn't read the notes," I said. "And given what I found out about the serum and when it was used, I decided that the notes weren't any kind of benefit." 

"Why not?" asked Thor, diverted.

"Couple reasons. First, this was early work on the formula. I found out that everybody who'd been given it either died in agony...the lone survivor suffered paralysis, deformation of the spine, and distortion of the muscles, but his brain wasn't altered. He was stuck in that body, unable to speak or move for over twenty years. So that's the outcome of this stage of the formulation. Then the man responsible for the formula was captured by HYDRA and spent a few more years on it; the end result of that was the Red Skull." I shook my head. "That formula was used successfully exactly twice." I jerked my chin at Cap. "He's one of them. And I can guarantee that anybody looking for super soldiers isn't going to selecting for integrity and morality. Conflict on this planet is bad enough without amoral super soldiers in the mix."

"Who was the second recipient of the serum?" Thor asked.

"Bucky," Cap sighed, and I nodded. We sat in silence.

"So what brings you to Earth?" I ask suddenly.

"Heimdall indicated that our presence was needed," Thor said. Cap grinned suddenly.

"I think he likes you," he said to me. Thor pondered this.

"He has a high regard for her," he said thoughtfully.

"So why now?" I asked sourly. "Why not yesterday, when I could have used the help?"

"Thor took some convincing," Cap said after a moment. I held back a snort.

"Are you staying?" I asked him. "Because things have changed some since you were last seen here." I grabbed my laptop, typed in my password, and handed it to him. He got online to check the news.

"About that power source," I said to Thor. "What do you need to transport it? If you're going to take it, it needs to be soon. The state has experts examining the site and they'll find it soon enough."

"You've seen it, but it isn't found here," Thor said glumly. "The Bifrost is made of it."

I scowled. Oh, Heimdall. I got up and retrieved the pill bottles from the bathroom. I peeled off the labels and rinsed off the sugar before returning to the living room. I handed Thor the bottles; he opened them, pouring out the matrix pieces. "Where did you get this?" he said, his scowl matching mine.

"Heimdall," I said shortly. "How big a bottle do you need and how thick does it have to be?"

"You can't do anything with this," Thor scoffed. "No man on Earth can work it." I repeated my question.

"About the size of the container," he said reluctantly. "Perhaps twice as thick. But I say again, you cannot work it."

I snatched the bottle from his hand and sat down again. "I'm no man," I assured him breezily and heard Cap reassuring his friend as I spilled the matrix pellets onto my hand and set the pill bottle on top of them. I concentrated, and gradually the material submitted to my will and began forming over the bottle. When I reached the top of the container, I slid the orange plastic out and formed shoulders and a rim. The remaining material was formed into a stopper. I stuck the stopper into the jar and tossed it over to Thor, who caught it but looked gobsmacked. I smirked.

"We'd better get a move on if you want to retrieve that power source," I said.


	17. Repatriation and ulterior motives

I grabbed a couple of screwdrivers, an adjustable wrench, my coat and flashlight, then turned toward the men. "Are you coming?" I asked, and they got up and joined me without another word. We trekked up to the SNL, where the door was permanently open, thanks to the invaders. I went in, Cap and Thor squeezed through, and I led the way down the stairs and over to the generator, where I flipped up the cover. The blue and white glow bathed our faces, and I looked over at Thor, who frowned.

"This is of the Tesseract," he confirmed glumly. I looked over the housing again, just to be sure I wasn't missing anything. It was a really remarkable material; there was no special containment beyond the lining of the housing.

"Hold this," I instructed, handing Thor the flashlight and pulling out a screwdriver.

"Why do you need that?" Cap asked, puzzled. "I thought you'd just..." and he made hand gestures up by his head.

"I might be able to work the screws out, but it would take hours and give me a headache," I said, trying to control the exasperation. I waved the screwdriver at him. "This is faster and easier."

"But won't that stuff go 'boom'?" he asked nervously. " In New York it did."

I shook my head. "I don't know about that, but here it's just sitting around. It's not generating power for anything, even." I set the screwdriver and in short order had the cover off. After that, it was a question of a few bolts and a couple more screws attaching a fine mesh screen for no reason I could divine, and then the power source was accessible. It just sat there, glowing. I stepped back.

Thor looked nervous for the first time and poked the bottle at the power source. It retreated a little. I suppressed the laughter but had a smile on my face as he pursued the power source around with the bottle, much like you do if you're trying to corral a wasp. Then he nudged it with the stopper and eventually coaxed it into the bottle, putting the stopper in fast. The power source didn't spike or show any signs of agitation throughout the process. In triumph, he stepped back and I quickly restored the bolts and screws, then lowered the cover. We made our way back upstairs and back to my house without encountering anyone. I sighed as I unlocked the door and walked into the security of my home. Finally, all the secrets in that lab were swept away. Let the past stay in the past.

Thinking about what I had in the pantry, I made a lasagne for dinner. It was the only thing I had in quantities large enough for two superheroes, even if there wasn't enough time to make the sauce from scratch. My guests were complimentary, polishing off everything, including a mountain of salad, the rolls and the chocolate pudding I made for dessert. Cleanup was pretty easy.

I was kind of surprised that they didn't poof back to Asgard after dinner, but they followed me into the living room and sat down as I built a fire, adding a pine log rich in sap for the snap and sparks. When I took my favorite chair by the fire, Thor asked about my ability to manipulate matter and I gave him a Cliff Notes version, pleased that Cap had respected my confidence. "I wish I had known of this ability of yours earlier," he said, an edge to his tone I didn't quite like.

"You had your chance," I said, shrugging. "And apparently you made a promise to return me to Earth permanently, so I expect you to honor that," I added briskly. Thor sat back, a frown on his face.

"That's true, everybody heard you promise," Cap reminded his comrade, and Thor sighed.

"Fine." Now that that matter was out of the way, I relaxed a bit. In contrast, Cap fidgeted. I braced myself.

"I have a big favor to ask," he blurted out. "Another one," he amended. I tilted my head, and he continued. "After catching up with the news, I need to meet with the other Avengers. See if we can't mend some bridges. I was wondering if we could have the meeting here," he said tentatively.

I groaned to myself. The Avengers had the bad habit of smashing things up when they disagreed, and I loved my house. It also meant that Tony Stark would probably be here, and I'd rather beat him up than look at him again. There was also public perception and governmental approval to think of. I really liked living here and the Avengers weren't universally popular. I didn't want people to track them here.

"How did you get here?" I asked abruptly. "Because Bifrost travel is pretty visible."

"Heimdall put us down a good five miles away," Cap reassured me. "And it was at noon, when the light is strongest, so it wouldn't be as visible."

"How long do you think this would take?" I asked finally.

"If it lasts past ten minutes, probably a day or two."

I thought about it a bit more, then sighed. "If you promise that everybody will arrive discreetly and not damage anything. I'll go stay in a hotel."

Thor nodded. "We will remember that we owe our host for her hospitality."

Cap produced a flip phone, the kind now universally recognized as a burner phone, and tossed it to Thor. "Maybe he'll take your call," he said. He stood and went outside, and I had to show Thor how to use it. There was only number in the directory. I stared at the fire as Thor had to leave a message asking Tony Stark to call him at that number. Cap returned with his shield. He grinned as I held out my hands and gave it to me. It looked perfect, to regular vision as well as when I dialed it down. I gave it back a little reluctantly.

"Have you used it at all?" I asked, and he nodded, resting it against the sofa as he sat back down.

"It has performed in glorious battle," Thor declaimed. It was a little theatrical, but he pulled it off.

"It looks perfect," I said with satisfaction.

"How did you--" Thor was cut off by the ringing of the phone. Cap and I were quiet as he poked the on button and had a chat with Stark. He answered questions about where he and Cap had been, asked about Stark, then brought up the reason for the call. He listened a bit and handed the phone to Cap, who took it with about as much enthusiasm as you would a dead rat. He explained the purpose of the meeting and my conditions, then hung up.

"It's on," he said with minimal enthusiasm. "He'll call back to let us know when they can be here." The call came about fifteen minutes later. People would be showing up tomorrow afternoon. I raised my eyebrows. That was quick.

The next morning, I drove to Salzburg and loaded up on groceries, then did some housecleaning. Thor and Cap protested, saying it looked great, but it wasn't nice to not prepare for visitors. I packed a bag after lunch and was on my way to the SUV when a nondescript black Ford pulled up. The passenger side door opened and Natasha Romanov, the notorious Black Widow assassin, exited. She wasn't as tall as I'd expected. She walked up to me and shook my hand.

"Place is all yours," I said. "A word of warning, though--there's only one bathroom. And if I were you, if you're going to be here overnight, I'd claim the master bedroom first. Cap and Thor already have the guestrooms, and I changed the sheets." She smiled.

"Good to know. Thank you for allowing us to meet here. Have we met before?" she asked, her eyes studying my face.

"Once, several years ago," I said briefly. She'd been Stark's PA the day he fired me. "You have an excellent memory for faces." She turned slightly and introduced me to Hawkeye, who also shook my hand and thanked me. They went up to the house and I drove back to Salzburg.

The next morning, I was getting ready to get breakfast and maybe do some more shopping for cold-weather clothes, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find two unsmiling men in dark suits who showed me their credentials.


	18. Heigh ho, it's off I go

Late that afternoon, I returned to the house. All the cars were gone, which I expected. I unlocked the door, and saw that everything was more or less like I'd left it; there were signs that a group of people had been there, but it was messy rather than dirty. Or broken. I went to my bedroom and packed; I stuffed the jackets and sweaters I'd bought last night into the suitcase without even taking them out of the bags. The clothing and personal effects that I couldn't fit in went into some shipping boxes. I pulled the down duvet off the bed and packed that too. Going out into the living room, I packed a few souvenirs and things I'd picked up as a tourist and put a small beautifully carved table by the three boxes. Then I went outside to my forge and took the materials and tools I'd brought from South America, a few reference works I'd gotten during my blacksmithing course, and took a final look around. I went back to the house and packed these too. I went around the house once more, making sure everything was shut off, then went back to the car.

I was driven to the Salzburg airport, and the immigration agent made sure I was on the plane to Paris and that I stayed there. As we pulled away from the gate, I saw him still standing by the window. The flight to Paris was short, and there wasn't a lot of time from the time I disembarked to the time my next flight to New York left. I welcomed the activity and clung to the numbness I'd felt since opening the hotel door that morning. I slept for most of the flight, and after we landed, I sat in the terminal, eating a meal I had no appetite for. I found a website that generated a vacation location at random, and after specifying the continental US, it suggested Deer Lodge, Montana. Never heard of it. I googled it and found that it was in western Montana, the pretty part of the state, between Butte and Missoula. I switched to Google images, wasn't that impressed, and looked at western Montana in general. That was nicer. Much prettier, with wide open spaces and low population. I grimaced. That was exactly why it wouldn't work for me. I wanted to be around people more, find some friends, do stuff. I further restricted my search to urban areas, and this time the generator suggested Seattle. I considered this, looked at the attractions and scenery, and walked over to a ticket counter. Not quite two hours later, I was on a flight for the west coast.

Once I landed, I went to a nice hotel near Sea-Tac and went right to sleep. It wasn't until I woke much later and took a bath that I let myself remember what had happened. I felt anger, sorrow, humiliation. The men at the door had been immigration officials. They took me to their office where I was interrogated about my connection with terrorists. Because some of the Avengers had refused to sign the Sokovia Accords, they had been placed on terror watchlists. Even though the Accords had fallen apart, policy had not been updated; they were waiting to see what happened with the Avengers next; even I had to admit it was reasonable. I had not known that when I was interviewed for my residency permit. After several hours, I had managed to convince them that I hadn't meant to lie, that I didn't have the facts or I would have disclosed that information. They'd run my financials and questioned where I got my money, getting very excited when I explained that it came from a settlement from Stark Tech, but they were disappointed when I explained what had happened and by my evident dislike of Tony Stark. They told me that my house had been raided; Thor and Cap's arrival by Bifrost had been noted and the authorities had begun a search with a radius of 20 km. They'd found the Avengers in a heated debate, arrested the ones who had not signed the Accords, and told the rest of them to leave, which they'd done. Finally I was allowed to leave, but my resident status had been revoked and I was being deported. Immediately, due to the situation. They allowed me to visit my real estate agent to arrange for the sale of the property, since it didn't look like I would be allowed back in the country. She was appalled to hear what had happened and assured me that she'd take care of the sale. I increased her fee and she agreed to send a cleaning crew out and ship my boxes and any furniture I designated once I sent my address, and she bought my SUV on the spot. Just for that, I added another 5% to her commission. One of the agents drove me back to the house and then to the airport. 

And that was why I was bawling in the bathtub in a Seattle hotel.

After a bit, I calmed down, wiped my face, and after dressing in clean clothes, ordered room service. I caught the national news, hearing a brief mention of the Avengers' adventure in Austria, which was pretty uninformative, then flicked off the TV and went to bed early. The next morning I researched some realtors and without a bit of enthusiasm dialed my first choice.


	19. I want to be alone, but Stark won't let me be

Unlike my last house-buying experience, this one was a disaster. And it wasn't because of the realtor, who had superhuman levels of tolerance. This was all on me. Unlike my last relocation from South America to Austria, I wasn't prepared to leave. And I wasn't sure I wanted to stay in Seattle; I'd come here on nothing more than a location generator and a few pictures. Finally, though, I lucked into a sublet downtown in an area that had recently been gentrified, from a recently retired history professor and her anthropologist professor husband, both connected to UW, who were going on sabbatical to Brazil. We met a few times, I made some disclosures in light of why I was deported, and they still decided to rent to me. Best yet, they left their personal library for me to explore. They would be gone nine months, and I felt like this timespan should be adequate for me to determine whether I wanted to stay in this city.

I started exploring the city and its environs. I took the ferries around, visited the splendid Hoh rainforest, did some kayaking on the Sound, checked out the Fremont Troll. Got a library card at the magnificent Seattle library. Went to the Pike Place Market and the Space Needle, the Museum of Glass, the Seattle Erotic Art Festival, the Frey Art Museum, the arboretum, the Chihuly gardens, and Alki beach. The restaurants and food in general were fantastic. The main negative was the lack of a hockey team. I had to road trip to BC to see a game in person. My home in Austria sold within two weeks of being put on the market.

The winter was pretty mild, unlike where I'd lived in Austria; they'd gotten a lot of snow there and had a couple of terrible blizzards. I kept up with emails from my former neighbors. One day I laced up my winter boots and visited the Kubota Gardens after a light snow. I was the only visitor when I went in and I enjoyed the solitude, walking through the white-capped trees. I paused on a red arched bridge to enjoy the beauty and silence. I frowned to hear footsteps behind me, muffled into soft "crumps" by the snow carpet, and started to move again.

"Don't leave on my account," a familiar voice said, and my frown turned into a snarl. Don't push him in the pond, I instructed myself firmly. Don't do it. I turned to see Tony Stark, complete with his characteristic smirk.

I couldn't think of anything to say that didn't contain a lot of expletives, so I settled for a withering stare and turned around, walking carefully to avoid falling on my butt. "Hey," he said, sounding offended, and caught up with me. "I'm sorry we got you deported."

"Leave me alone," I requested, and set off back to the parking lot, walking briskly, just this side of breaking out into an unseemly run. Stark dropped back, but in the parking lot Black Widow and Hawkeye were leaning against another nondescript sedan.

"How'd he manage to piss you off this time?" Hawkeye wanted to know.

"By breathing in my vicinity," I snapped, and stomped off to my car.

"Hey," Natasha said, walking toward me. "Stark can be irritating, but he's right that we owe you for the events in Austria."

"I don't want anything from you," I said, turning around. "I've tried to do the right thing, but being associated even tangentially with the Avengers has gotten me run out of two countries, one of which I was actually settling into and liking a lot. Now I'm back in the US, I can't be deported, but I can still be jailed, which is not something I'm interested in experiencing. So if you think you owe me, you can repay me by leaving me alone."

"Stark's taking us all to lunch," Hawkeye said. "He bought out Lark for it."

"It's a great restaurant," I said politely. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

"Thor and Steve will be there," Natasha said. "Steve has a question about his shield."

I can't decide if she's telling the truth or not and I don't necessarily want to see Thor again, either. What if he decides to go back on his promise? "He can email me if he's got questions," I told her. She cocked her head and looked at me intently.

"Look, Tony is going to bother you until you agree to speak with him. This is an easy way to get him off your back."

That stiffened my spine some more. I was starting to feel like I had a stick up my butt. "If he keeps harassing me, I'll get a restraining order."

"You'll have to face him sometime."

"Why? I was able to avoid him, effortlessly, until recently."

Hawkeye walked forward and hands me an envelope. "This is the last arrow in my quiver," he said. "I don't know what it says, none of us do, but if you still don't want to go to lunch after reading this, we'll leave you alone."

Warily, I take the envelope. It's lovely stationary, high rag content, very appealing texture. It's sealed, but there's no writing on it at all. I cycle through my vision options and all I see inside is a piece of paper fresh from the printer. I open it gingerly and read the letter.

My breath hisses out. It's the one offer I can't refuse. That I don't want to refuse.


	20. Probably the most uncomfortable lunch of my life

"I'll follow you to the restaurant," I told them grudgingly. They wheeled around without another word and got in their car. I got into my blue Mercedes CLS coupe. What can I say? I'd really liked my Mercedes SUV. The only drawback was the very limited palette of colors--they'd had like four different types of black and no greens...or anything different, really.

As I pulled out after the sedan, I saw Tony Stark emerge from the gardens and get into his own car.

When I got to Lark, I saw a small selection of vehicles and parked reluctantly off to the side. Part of that was that I'd only had the car a month and didn't want it to get dinged accidentally. Sure, I could fix it easily, but it still would have been damaged. I would know. I took one last deep breath of the leather-scented air and got out, wishing I'd worn something a little nicer. As I walked with Hawkeye and Natasha to the door, Stark's flashy R8 pulled in. We walked over to a long table where Cap, Thor, Scarlet Witch, Vision, a guy who looked like he was still in high school, a guy who looked a lot like Paul Rudd and was so excited his eyes were practically bugging out, and three African-American men, one in an exoskeleton--I guessed that guy was War Machine, a testosterone-soaked name if I ever heard one--were waiting. Cap stood and held a chair for Natasha. King T'Challa walked over to me and extended his hand which I shook automatically. He looked quite solemn, but he winked as he gave me a small velvet pouch. I could feel the metal ingot within and positively itched to examine it, but would have to wait. Tony Stark came in and sat at the head of the table.

I sat between the king and the guy who must be Falcon. Waiters came up and took beverage orders, handed out menus, that sort of thing. Stark opened his mouth after we'd ordered, but King T'Challa smoothly started introducing the people around the table, starting at his right: Scott Lang--"I'm Ant Man," he said, leaning over the table to shake my hand. I had to smile, he was just so excited to be here. Vision was differently colored and pretty freaky to my vision; Scarlet Witch, Natasha and Clint Barton (I'd never asked for his name; he was one of the few Avengers with a secret identity and it made me nervous that I was getting names now), Cap, Stark, Colonel James Rhodes, Peter Parker, Thor, and Samuel Wilson, who also shook my hand. The king finished the introduction by announcing my name.

"Emma? That is a pretty name," Thor said, tucking into one of his appetizers.

"Dude--you stayed in her house and you didn't bother to learn her name?" Falcon asked, dismayed. Thor shrugged a little.

"So what's the problem with your shield?" I asked Cap, remembering what Natasha had said.

"Problem? There's no problem," he assured me. My mouth twitched as Natasha elbowed him.

"Speaking of his shield, how did you make it?" Stark cut in. "Because it's been through a few battles now and there's not a scratch on it. My father couldn't have done it."

I take a bite of my appetizer. "It's what I do," I say simply.

Stark studies me. I stare back, uninterested in games. "So why are you subletting? You have a few hundred million of my dollars in your bank account."

Just like that, I lose my appetite. "Well, they aren't your dollars, actually, they're mine. And I can spend them or not as I please."

Peter Parker leans around Thor (and he's practically laying on the table, Thor's a lot to lean around). "How did you get so much money from Mr Stark?" he asks breathlessly.

My cheeks burn for a moment. "It wouldn't have been nearly that much, but Stark managed to piss off the mediator." I looked at Stark. "If you'd kept your mouth shut instead of antagonizing every single person in that room, you'd have had to pay a lot less." Stark shrugs. This is one of the reasons I don't like him. He never admits he's wrong. He always has to be the center of attention. 

"What did you do this time?" Colonel Rhodes says to him, a little wearily.

"I didn't do anything. She used to work for me. She broke the rules and she was fired." He says this crisply, almost nonchalantly, and it pushes me over the edge.

"No." I say this so firmly that everybody looks at me. "I worked for Mr Stark. After he was killed, I was employed by the materials research division of Stark Tech." Stark gets the slap in my words and turns red in fury.

"Wait, what?" Wilson said in bewilderment, looking between us.

"I was hired by Mr Howard Stark," I tell him evenly. Everybody looks at Tony Stark. Everybody knows his dad is a sore spot with him.

"I don't get it," Parker says. Cap sighs.

"Howard Stark was her mentor. She respected him a lot," he explains. I'd be worried that Tony Stark would be stroking out about now from the look of him, but somehow I just don't care.

"So...why are you not working there anymore?" Ant Man asks cautiously.

"In one of the periods of Stark's micromanagement, there was a lab accident. Dickhead in the lab set off a small explosion. A guy from another lab who was crammed into ours spilled waste chemicals on me. Stark claimed we'd broken lab policies and the two of us were fired."

"I gather the mediator saw things differently?"

"Yes. She said that the blanket approval the lab manager had given us for overtime was enough, that there were a lot of safety violations mandated by management, and that the management was a mess. Stark took offense, and that's how I ended up with such a large settlement." I grinned/snarled at Stark. "Because nobody's allowed to criticize Tony Stark."

"That low-level--" he started to say loudly.

"You called her a man-hating bureaucrat, the dregs of her law school class, who had no understanding of what it takes to be successful and no intellectual capacity," I said icily. The table groaned.

"Stark Industries paid for your Masters," he said, changing topics again. "And you worked for me in metals and coatings. How do I know you're not using proprietary knowledge for your own profit?"

"Because nobody in those labs can do what I can," I assured him indifferently. "But perhaps somebody in Division O could."

Stark shut right up. Everybody else looked between us. The servers came out with the entrees.

"What's Division O?" Cap finally asked.

"It's--"

"Shut up," Stark said.

"We used to joke, call it Lab Ohmigod," I said over him. "It's a lab where they either experiment on mutants or try to create mutations. I'm not sure which." I poked my fork in the fish. "But you knew I had a mutation. It was in the documents in the mediation, the doctor's report you insisted on." He didn't say a word. 

"You suppressed that report," Hawkeye said flatly. "If the mediator had known she had a mutation because of that, she'd probably own a good chunk of Stark Tech now."

"You son of a bitch," I said. "First you hold off paying the settlement for months so that you could get the interest on it, a power play. Now I find out that you withheld evidence in a legal matter. And you accuse me of theft." I want to hurt him. It's not that I want more money from him, I can't spend what I've got now, but the knowledge he cheated to make himself look better floors me. I'd known my lawyer wasn't as good as Stark's, but now I was realizing just how unequal representation had been. "It's no wonder your father had a low opinion of you." I can tell that hits him right where he lives and I'm meanly glad of it.

"You don't know anything about my father," he hissed.

"I do, actually. He spent a lot of time in the labs with us. He didn't just direct the research projects, he led us. Most of us would have done anything he asked. Even those who weren't completely wowed by him liked him."

"Oh. You were one of his acolytes," he said, sneering.

"Actually, we were The Acolytes," I correct him. "And proud to be. He hand picked us to do research. It wasn't bleeding edge research, because it was out far enough that blood hadn't reached it yet." I smiled a little at the inside joke. He spent more time with us than the rest of the employees. He talked to us. Once he told me that while he loved his wife, he loved the work we were doing more, it was more intellectually engaging. Ouch.

"Were you sleeping with him?"

I rolled my eyes. "Unlike you, Mr Stark knew better than to fuck the employees. But there were a lot of other reasons why it never would have happened. He was married, he was very careful not to abuse his authority, I wouldn't have ever wanted to disturb our relationship as it was. That time, those people, that camaraderie were the highlight of my professional life." Stark's head jerked back like I'd slapped him. I took a deep breath to cover the feeling of loss I still experienced. "As for profit, not only did I not make a profit on the creation of that shield, I didn't earn one red cent from it. In fact, it cost me my forge, my house. I had to leave one step ahead of an angry mob."

"It was a wide spot in the jungle," Stark scoffs.

"It was mine. It was what I needed in order to come to grips with what happened, learn new skills, made some pretty cool things," I snapped. I probably stayed there too long, but it was comfortable, and I had made my place.

"Why did you do it, then?" Hawkeye asks, looking up from a pasta dish.

"It was a challenge," I shrugged. "And it seemed like the right thing to do."

"So what is this mutation?" Lang asked, fascinated. "Or are we allowed to use the M word?"

I smiled a little. His honest enthusiasm was...welcome. Bringing up all these old hurts was like lancing an bad infection and I felt tired and stained by it. I raised my eyebrows briefly and took Falcon's steak knife. I put my hand on the table and with all my strength, I slashed the knife across my skin. Everybody flinched back. I felt it like I'd just smacked the dull side of the knife against my hand. I returned the knife and everybody looked at my hand. Not a drop of blood, and it should have been laid open to the bone. "Impervious to cuts, punctures, burns of all kinds." I looked around. Cap sat back and I knew he wouldn't say anything about the other mutations. "In fact, I went back to Stark Tech once this started to show up. Medical refused to take a look since I'd passed the medical exam after the accident and I no longer worked there." I smiled brightly.

"What would happen if you need surgery?" King T'Challa asked slowly. My smile faded.

"Basically, if they couldn't do it through the GI tract, it's too bad for me," I said simply. "Unfortunately, there's no super healing power that came with it."

"Good to know," Stark said briskly. Right now I loathe him so much.

"Typical," I said, my lip curling. "A quip to cover up as usual."

"Oh?" he said, a new edge to his voice.

"Image is literally everything to you. So you come up with quips to cover up your uncertainty, your inadequacies, your mistakes, your hollow core. Your exterior is so polished--genius, playboy, philanthropist, "superhero"-- it's big and flashy." I looked at the arc reactor in his chest and shook my head. "Even that thing in your chest. Yeah, it's a genius bit of tech, but it's way bigger than it has to be, and you wouldn't be you if you didn't flaunt the flashlight beaming out of your chest. Tell me. If there was a little girl who'd been hurt the same way you were, maybe by an old stockpiled Stark weapon, would you give her an arc reactor of her own to save her life?" He jerked but didn't answer. "No, and I'll tell you why. Because you don't want anybody to get their hands on your stuff. And then you'd feel bad about your selfishness and try to cover up the guilt by throwing money around, getting your name on a hospital wing for children's care even though you wouldn't save that one child. Because you still need to service your ego. Small kind gestures out of sight of the media are not your style. And you're curiously blind. When people came to you with the Sokovia Accords, did you ever say, 'screw you. If we hadn't been there the death toll would have been a lot higher. We fight the supervillains so that more aren't hurt.' With all the resources at your disposal, did you ever look into defensive weapons that don't produce so much damage? I'm betting no, because it's easier just to pay off somebody for a wrecked building or to settle out of court on a wrongful death suit. And because you caved in about the Accords, three of the remaining Acolytes were killed last week in Singapore when the bad guys crashed the lab in search of a chemical agent. There isn't enough of them left to have a burial." 

I looked at my lunch, now cold and unappealing. I slid the pouch with the precious vibranium ingot along the table back to T'Challa. "I can't take this," I said, and got up and left.


	21. Atonement

I went home feeling pretty awful. I'd always assumed that if I'd ever get the chance to unload on Tony Stark, I'd feel better, but if anything, I felt worse. I'd allowed my resentment and anger to fester and affect my life. Like Tony Stark, I needed to get my shit together and shape up, but my reasons and needs were different. I didn't want to be bitter and angry, resentful that Tony Stark was not his father. I acknowledged that I'd idolized Mr Stark; I'd been willing to overlook his occasional flare of temper, his conceit too, and there were times he'd treated us all like a troupe of trained monkeys that would hop to his bidding. I could remember a time when going to work was the precious center of my life because of my fellow researchers and the work we pursued. As a team, unified. That part of my life was over, and I accepted it, but there was no reason for not moving forward, seething over an accident that had changed me. I felt shame; I'd felt so good pointing out Stark's flaws that I ignored my own. I felt a little like a bully although Stark was more than capable of defending himself; I'd had a good idea of where to hit so it hurt the most. Everybody who'd worked for the current Stark knew how defensive he was about his dad.

I sat in my sublet and thought about that for a good long time as the light faded. It had really been hard to part with the vibranium sample; I'd wanted to test it, experiment with the extraordinary metal for so long, but it was a bribe and I knew it. The terms of the letter had been that if I had lunch with the group I could have the metal, and I hadn't made it through the meal. Now I was wondering why the bribe; that sample, pure vibranium, was worth over a million dollars, and it was about the size of my thumb. It didn't make sense.

I got up and made some mac and cheese; I'd skipped most of my lunch and now that I was working on my problems rather than just wallowing, I felt entitled to be hungry. I'd picked up my mail on the way in and now I opened the box from Amazon that had been waiting for me. Textbooks on cell biology, anatomy and physiology. Since I couldn't build a forge in the back yard of my sublet, I'd decided to move on my big secret worry. I was really worried that I might need medical intervention some day and I didn't want to die because I couldn't have a life-saving surgery. So I thought that maybe I could learn to maintain my body on the inside by shifting things around. Cholesterol plaques? Maybe I could learn how to break them down enough to be swept away by the bloodstream. Learn how to stimulate my body's defenses so that cancers didn't get out of control, break up blood clots. Or maybe figure out how to separate my skin on the cellular level so that a surgery could be performed. There were a lot of possibilities. I didn't have the seemingly endless cash flow Stark did, but I still had a huge chunk. As I'd said, more than I could spend in my lifetime. Maybe it was time to set up a lab of my own. And maybe this could be the first project of my new lab, employees: 1. Maybe, if I could learn how to manipulate cells like I did metals, I could help other people. I flinched away at the though of the troubles that could cause: how would I decide to help? Would it be right to charge somebody for helping to save their lives? I'm not a doctor; could I be arrested for practicing medicine without a license? My eye started to twitch. Maybe I should just figure out how to fix myself and then concentrate on metals again. I liked metals and coatings and films. I was good with them. Or if I could manipulate cells, did I have a moral obligation to use that ability to help others? Gah. All those questions and I had no answers. First things first. Learn about the body and see if I can achieve some of my goals. Then I could decide what to do then.

Feeling better, I put the dishes in the dishwasher. I liked Seattle a lot more than I'd expected and thought that this wouldn't be a bad place to finally put down roots. I decided to do the weekly cleaning a little early and puttered around with a Swiffer, pausing at the library. I read the titles on one shelf and smiled, the first big, genuine smile I'd smiled in years. If I was going to reinvent myself, maybe it was time to branch out and learn things I'd never made time for in the past. Get my head out of the lab for a bit. My mom always said I could do anything I wanted; maybe now I should see if she was right. I was doing the same thing I accused Stark of doing--reacting to a crisis rather than taking deliberate, reasoned action. Now I felt remorse for unloading on Stark and for brooding and festering. It struck me that the reason Tony Stark and I got along like matter and anti matter was that we suffered some of the same character flaws. It probably wasn't the best time to go off half-cocked. I finished dusting and turned on my laptop, opening the website for the University of Washington and looking at their academic departments. I could get a doctorate in materials science. Or maybe Scandanavian Studies. I grinned. Maybe I'd go in for general studies and spend my time in the wildest, most out-there classes that the huge university had to offer.

Well, I wasn't going to jump into anything new tonight. I'd take some time, explore my options. Maybe see a career counselor. I picked up my textbook on anatomy and sat down in the comfiest chair. While wider career goals could wait, I still needed to see if I could find a workaround for my particular problem.

I had just read the introduction when the doorbell rang.


	22. All sorts of surprises

I opened the door to Cap, King T'Challa, and Natasha. We looked at each other a moment, then I said, "Are you guys still in trouble with the law? Because this isn't my place."

Cap smiled ruefully. "No, actually, things are being ironed out and we're not classified as terrorists or criminals any more."

I stood back and opened the door wider. Natasha looked around as I led them to the living room and asked about the owners. "I think they agreed to sublet to me once I told them about Austria, actually. They're kind of superhero geeks." And remembering my promise--which I didn't think I'd be in a position to honor, actually--I went to the sofa table and withdrew a photograph from the drawer and found a Sharpie. "So if you wouldn't mind, I said I'd ask anybody I saw again if they'd sign this." It was a picture of the action at the Leipzig airport from a wide angle; you could see the two lines of Avengers moving forward for engagement. Natasha smirked and signed, Cap just signed, and T'Challa smiled, signed, and drew a little panther by his name.

"Thank you," I said, carefully putting away the photograph and sitting in my chair again. "So what brings you by?"

"To see how you were," Cap said. "You seemed pretty upset when you left."

Natasha shrugged. "We didn't get down to business before you and Tony started hammering at each other."

T'Challa leaned forward and held out the vibranium ingot. "You forgot this."

I shook my head and forced myself not to reach for it. "The deal was that I sit down to lunch. I only made it part way."

"I was unaware of your history with Mr Stark," he said thoughtfully. "I believe you've earned it."

I crossed my arms to keep myself from grabbing it. "That little piece of metal is worth in excess of a million dollars. I'm not sure why you're offering it to me as a party favor."

He smiled suddenly. "The Captain was telling me about how you made his shield, all the layers, and one thing he said stuck with me." Cap nodded.

"I said that you'd made it without vibranium but that you'd mentioned it a few times like it was something you wanted to work with."

"Do you have your shield?" I asked him, and he nodded. "Could I see it?" Without another word he got up and went outside. I liked that he doesn't waste time asking questions that will clearly be answered if you're patient. When he returned with it, I examined it carefully. From an objective standpoint, it's remarkable work. From an ego perspective, I'd like to sign it. I probably could persuade the metal to accept at least my initials, but I won't. My part is done. I patted it absently and handed it back. "What I'd like you to do is to bring down the shield on the vibranium ingot to see which is stronger. I'll repair any damage, of course." Both T'Challa and Natasha perked up, and Cap agreed, so we went to the backyard. There's a brick patio there that I could have fixed if it got damaged. T'Challa placed the ingot on a brick, and Cap used his considerable muscle to bring the shield edge down on the metal. There was a ringing tone, but it wasn't from the shield; interestingly, it transmitted vibration less than the vibranium. We leaned in and saw that he cleanly cut the ingot in half. I grinned like a child and put out my hands. With a tolerant smile, he handed me the shield and I cycled through my vision options on the place where it met the vibranium. There was a tiny burr on the side where the impact was, I could barely feel it and it was a piece of cake to smooth it out again. I handed it back to Cap and gave in, doing a brief dorky dance, complete with fist pumps. Natasha started laughing. T'Challa examined the two halves of the ingot with a stunned expression.

We went back inside. "I would not have thought it possible if I had not seen it myself," T'Challa finally said and again offered the vibranium. I figured that I've shown him something pretty cool, so I took half. Ok, it's the slightly bigger half. And it was cleanly cut, now that I examined it. It's been cleaved along the planes of the crystal structure of the metal. T'Challa examined his own chunk, and Natasha asked to see mine.

I was basking in my success, and why not? It was a damned good bit of work. Cap examined his shield. "So, do you think you could do this again?" he asked without looking up. I frowned.

"Are you planning on losing that?" I asked in return. "Because, frankly, given the trouble it caused, I'd be kind of pissed."

"Language," he and Natasha said in chorus, and she cracked up.

"You guys have a swear jar?" I asked in disbelief.

"That's a good idea," Cap said, looking up. "We could probably fund the quinjet with it. But no, I'm not planning on anything happening to this. Although a backup would be nice. And since we're not criminals on the run, this time I could pay you for it."

"We'd like you to join the Avengers and do R and D for us," Natasha said immediately.

"No. I won't work with Tony Stark again," I said flatly, and she looked a little surprised.

"I know he can be an asshole," she began, and tossed Cap a quarter when he opened his mouth. "But he's a genius too. What you two could achieve together would be amazing. Things to immobilize criminals rather than kill them. The things you were asking about. Because no, we never considered less...hostile ways of battling the bad guys."

"No, I don't ever want work for or with Stark again," I said implacably. "And while I'm sorry I unloaded on him at the nice lunch, I still loathe the guy. And it's not fair, I know, but I resent that he's not like his dad."

"You idolized his father," T'Challa said. "Wouldn't it be a tribute to him to work with his son?"

"I give you full credit for trying a psychological angle," I said. "But no. It's complex. I was hired by Stark Tech just before my undergraduate graduation. By Mr Stark himself, actually. He was in HR for some reason, heard that they were interviewing a new lab candidate, and came in. It was my third interview there, the one where they cut you loose or hire you. We clicked instantly, he asked about my ambitions and what Stark Tech could do for me, then finally the HR people got to ask their questions, and he hired me on the spot." The memory made me smile. "The HR rep later told me they'd have hired me anyway. When I told my grandpa about it, he was thrilled. He said that not only would it be a great place for me but that I would have a great career there, that Stark took care of his employees. They had an open house for a new facility not long after I started there, and my grandpa came with me. He met Mr Stark, they talked some about the war. My granddad had served in the Pacific as a hospital corpsman, island-hopping with the Marines. They got along great too. When I got admitted to grad school, my grandpa was over the moon. He died shortly after that. So that was our corporate culture, built on loyalty. Which was why it was so awful when Tony Stark shut down the weapons division. Over a hundred scientists and techs alone worked there, only eleven or twelve were offered positions in other labs. The rest...they couldn't get jobs domestically, they had to go overseas. A few of them killed themselves because they couldn't get work anywhere, their research was too specialized. Most of them held PhDs, and it's really hard to change research tracks when you're established. I don't know what happened to a lot of them. Some retired. I can see that you think everybody overreacted," I said looking around. "But you didn't last at Stark Tech if you didn't love what you were doing, unless you were driven to excel. It was heaven on a plate to be able to research virtually anything you wanted, but it always was a place that demanded your best and you had to give it your all. So to have that be ripped away so abruptly was a terrible thing." I got up and retrieved something from my bedroom, handing it to Natasha.

"Mr Stark had these rings made for the Acolytes a couple months before he died. They're platinum, with the thinnest possible vibranium wire in the center. It's all that was left over after Cap's shield was made. It kind of solidified us as a team. Our goal was to be the best, the most innovative. It was a tangible token, I never took it off. Until one day, after Mr Stark was killed and Tony Stark had settled in, I realized that I was just going to my job. I've never worn it since. It wasn't just us, though. Every year there was a big company holiday, even those of us in school came back for it. Everybody lightened up and toured the other parts of the labs where we never stuck our noses, socialized. Mr Stark would give awards to those who had achieved a milestone goal--setting the goals was part of our performance reviews--and anniversaries, five, ten, ect. Everybody got a new lab coat and protective glasses. It was fun and cohesive and gave us an emotional investment in our work. And Tony Stark took over and all of that went away." I shrugged. "So I am resentful that Stark never made an effort to engage with the labs. He'd come down now and then, bogart promising research, set the scientist to do something else. He sure used a lot of other people's research in developing his first Iron Man suits and tech. And he's never publicly thanked any of them. So yeah. I'm not working with him. Besides, what I know is metal and things that can be used on and with metal. What you're looking at will require a lot of other substances." I sat there; T'Challa handed me back my ring.

"And before you ask, I can't do mass production. What I can do requires my personal attention every step of the way. My skin wasn't the only mutation. It's just the only one I want to talk about."


	23. Offers aplenty

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked sharply.

"I mean that now I have a photographic memory and an ability to make good alloys," I say, underselling myself by quite a lot.

She looks concerned. "That might be dangerous for you if your abilities become known."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "If there's a leak, it comes from your side, because only you guys know what I can do." I think about that for a minute, then amend, "And Heimdall knows I can do something, but I don't think I told him just what. Otherwise, that is information only I have."

"But the work you did on Mr Roger's shield has been noticed; there is speculation on the internet and in other groups about the difference between his current shield and his vibranium shield, not just the color scheme change to a solid silver color. If people are interested enough--and there are those who would like very much to exploit that alloy--they will track you down," T'Challa said slowly.

"They probably think it was made by whatever unit Stark's got working on Avengers gear," I shrug. "I can probably color it to match his old one."

"You can?" Cap asked alertly. "Because I gotta say I like the old design--"

"That's not the point. The altercation in that port city was recorded on cell phones," Natasha said immediately. "Steve was seen in the company of a white haired woman and Thor was recorded as taking you both with him."

"For all anybody knows, I'm still on Asgard," I point out. And I wonder if I can't figure out how to get my hair to regrow my former natural dark brown.

Cap huffs a breath and leans forward. "The point is that there are some very bad people who would like to make a profit and it looks like you might be able to provide them with things like unbeatable armor. I'd be very surprised if they weren't investigating right now. They won't give you a choice."

"It doesn't sound like you're really giving me a choice here, either," I tell him baldly.

"Don't be stubborn," Natasha breaks in over whatever Cap was going to say. "Frankly, we can't take the chance that our enemies would be able to exploit your abilities."

"Are you going to kidnap me and force me to work for Stark again?" I ask, anger starting to burn at the edges of my words. "Because that doesn't sound any better than these other people you're talking about."

"It doesn't have to be like that," Cap says soothingly. I look at him in dislike.

"It apparently means nothing to you, but I'm considering my options. Maybe going back to school and studying something new. My association with various Avengers hasn't done me any good at all, and now you're saying I'm in danger because I found Cap up in one of my trees one day. Maybe I'll buy a damned island and stay there for the rest of my days being a dilettante and going from one enthusiasm to another. Now you're saying that I don't in fact have any options. I have to work for you 'or else.' Well, fuck that." I grabbed my purse off the table, extracted a bill and threw it at Cap. "Out. Get out."

"Emma," Natasha said coaxingly. I shook my head.

"Out."

Reluctantly, they got to their feet and filed out. I locked the door behind them and leaned against it, thinking. What if they were right? Shit. I went to my computer and started doing some research. Where could I go to disappear?

I was considering some options when there was another knock on the door. I looked through the door to see an African-American man on the doorstep. Just as he raised T'Challa's half of the vibranium ingot so I could see it clearly, I noticed he wore an eyepatch on his left eye.

"Ms Harrington, I know you're in there," he said in a really nice voice. I took a minute to unlock and open the door, keeping my foot against the door to prevent him from just pushing his way in. My temper was getting pretty short. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Nick Fury," he said, not one bit fazed by my rudeness. "I came up with the Avengers Initiative. I'd like to talk to you about it. I'm not here to make you go some place you don't want to be."

Grudgingly, I let him in, gesturing him toward the living room, following him. I didn't want to turn my back on anybody right now. He sat on the sofa and waited for me to perch warily on my chair.

"I used to be the director of SHIELD, before Cap destroyed most of the arsenal and Natasha dumped all our secrets onto the internet," he said, and if all that bothered him I couldn't tell. "When HYDRA's involvement in SHIELD became known, we had to burn it down to remove the corruption. But the Avengers, which I conceived as a way to fight threats that conventional methods couldn't, didn't stop with the end of SHIELD. Fast forward to the current day, where the world seems to be in an uneasy detente with superheroes. The Avengers have been in talks with the US government and the UN regarding their place in the world. With the rise of superheroes, we also have the rise of juiced-up villains. While the cause of these superpowered people is debatable, it's usually put down to the rise of technology--"

"You can't say that for sure," I objected. "Nobody knows what mutations might have occurred in the past because smart people would keep that to themselves where possible. Plus, Natasha, Hawkeye, Falcon, War Machine don't have superpowers. The first two don't have mutations or a lot of technology. The latter two just use technology. Technology only enables people to do more with what they have."

"I'm not here to debate that," he said, not terribly bothered by my outburst. Points to him; I'd have been grinding my teeth. "What I am saying is that although SHIELD is defunct, superpowered people are not, and governments are having to deal with them. Stark's got lawyers at the table with the UN as we speak to work out a situation that everybody can live with. Last night they were instructed to sweeten the pot with a promise that non-destructive technology would be researched heavily, but it's tempered with a statement of the obvious: that on balance, having good people out there who can actually battle the bad people is a public good and prevents damage and death in the community as a whole. What has been agreed to so far is not public and won't be until the major wrinkles are all ironed out. Essentially, the US government will recognize the Avengers as a peacekeeping force operating in its borders but not under its control. The Avengers will not be employed but will be allowed to operate as a force not politically driven. There will be a claims board set up that will be funded in part by the Avengers and part by the US budget, but the new understanding will be that damage is going to happen. Insurance companies will not be allowed to deny claims because the loss was caused by superpowered individuals. That means the rates will be going up for all of us," he sighed. "But essentially, the position represents the new normal. The bad guys can't be allowed to use chemical or biological weapons for their own ends, slaughter people, engage in wholesale destruction, or attempt to rule the world. That's something all of us but the bad guys can agree on. And that stopping them will also cause loss. That's unavoidable. It looks like the UN will remain officially neutral on the subject, allowing individual nations to make their own rules, but in recognition of the common good, would have an official policy that superheroes be allowed to operate unrestricted as long as their actions are against terrorists rather than established governments." I settled back in my chair.

"I can verify that there are people looking for you." He leaned forward and gave me a flash drive. I took it over to my computer and was soon clicking through dossiers of over a dozen individuals, all of whom didn't seem like they'd care whether I wanted to come along with them or not. I looked at Fury, keeping a blank expression on my face.

"This is what the Avengers would do if you agreed to join us. You would be given a workshop of your own, fully equipped to allow you to continue your work. As I understand it, you have an ability that allows you to create on a small scale. So what you'd do is pass along research to the development team, who would try to find ways of replicating what you can do on a larger scale. You personally would work on individual projects like a backup shield for Rogers, things that only you can do. You would have the freedom to explore new avenues of research as well; I understand that you have an interest in studying new fields. How do you feel about fibers?" he asked suddenly.

"I don't have strong feelings about them. I personally prefer the breathability of natural fibers when I think about it."

He smiled slightly. "What if somebody gave you a new fiber to play with? Could you develop some sort of coating for it to give it a special property? Not just, say, increasing its strength, but maybe something different, like a way to make them shed sweat and dirt so they don't start to smell? Maybe stiffen a couple layers of fabric so that it provides customized bulletproof protection?" My eyes narrow as I start to think about that.

"You could go back to school part time and study textile technology, if you wanted to go in that direction, for example, or you could stick with what you know. Stark funds the Avengers these days, but you would not be under his authority; you would be independent. You would not be working as an employee of Avenger Tech, Stark Tech, or any of its subdivisions, as it has been noticed that you two don't play well together. Stark has spun off Avenger Tech; he stays out of it and does his own work separately. You don't like that he's not like his dad, he resents you for being closer to his dad than he was. It's for the best, actually, that you don't work together, I think. You could choose the site for your lab. There would be some meetings where other scientists would interface with you to provide synergy between your work and theirs, however that works out. We're looking at a bicoastal presence anyway, an Avengers headquarters that has a museum component where people could come in, get to know the Avengers. PR. Get people on our side for a change, as well as providing a second staging ground for actions across the Pacific. There might be merchandising opportunities, which would help pay for everything, make us less reliant on Stark's bank account, make the Avengers more accessible. There are indications that Black Widow action figures would be very popular. Anyway," he said, shaking his head slightly to get back on track, "if you joined up, we could help preserve your private identity and provide protection. We've had people down to your former home in the jungle and while your defenses were impressive given the circumstances, we can do better.

"Think about it." He got up and handed me a card. "Call that if you decide to take me up on my offer. A word of advice. If you decide against joining the Avengers, consider taking T'Challa up on his offer. Wakanda is pretty secure." With that, he turned and strolled out of the room. I got up when the door shut and locked it behind him.


	24. A new friend

Look. I know that I've been pissy in general since the accident. I know that fucked-up things happen to good people. But god damn it, this is getting ridiculous. Why the hell should I have to take precautions? I'm not dangerous. I'm not researching anything dangerous. I just push atoms around.

Mentally, I set aside a quarter for each curse word.

I know I'm not good with change. I get in a rut and I like it. In fact, I make a nice wallow and stay put. It's one thing to venture outside the wallow from time to time, when I want to. It's another altogether to be forced from my wallow with the thought of vague, carefully-undefined threats. I page through the files of baddies more slowly and come to some unwanted conclusions.

I try to go back to my textbook, but I'm too grumpy. Finally I slap the cover shut and go to bed.

The next morning, I feel like I've had enough pity party and call the number on the card that Mr Fury left as I'm frying pork belly for breakfast. The smoky indulgence is kind of the parting gift from my self-indulgence. About twenty minutes later, there's a knock on the door. I open the door to see Mr Fury and Thor. Thor smiles at me and whistles; a dog squeezes out of the window of their car and bounds up.

"Motherfucker," I say in alarm and step back. Another quarter for the swear.

Mr Fury laughs. "This is Sigurd," Thor says, introducing me. "His name means victory and guardian, and this is why he is here. He is from Asgard and will protect you against all threats."

Sigurd sits down on his ample butt and swishes his ginormous tail. Seriously, this dog-appearing creature is freaking massive. His head comes mid-chest on me. He is well-muscled and with a dark thick bluish gray coat and very dark, expressive gray eyes, very striking. I haven't had pets, but I fancy myself more of a cat person.

"Nice doggy," I say, tentatively extending my hand. His cold wet nose nudges my palm, inviting me to pet. Which I do. His fur is a lot softer than I thought it would be. Thor laughs again and thumps my shoulder, staggering me a bit. Sigurd grasps his wrist in his immense jaws and growls/gurgles a mild warning. 

"See?" Thor says. "He will keep you from harm." Sigurd keeps his wrist between his teeth.

"Um...you can let go now," I suggest to the dog, and Sigurd promptly releases Thor.

"Here," Thor says, handing me a leash and a harness. "He doesn't like the leash tugging at his neck." The leash and harness are a zippy red that contrasts beautifully with his fur.

"We're setting up a meeting tomorrow to plan your integration into the team," Mr Fury says in the most laid-back way possible. "Bring him with you," he suggests.

"Bring him everywhere," Thor cautions me. "He cannot protect you if he is not with you."

"I'll text you the details," Fury says, and they leave.

I invite Sigurd inside and lock the door behind us. "I've never had a dog before," I tell him since it's evident he understands English. He woofs once and pads into the kitchen, where he sits down solidly. "OK, so perhaps we need to get you something to eat." He woofs again, and squeezes into the backseat of the Mercedes. Maybe I should have gotten another SUV.

At Petsmart, I hook the leash onto his harness in the parking lot, and we go inside. We stand there, me looking stupid, until a staff member rescues me, leading us to the dog section. We get a cart first. First is a big bag of food. Looking at my new companion, I put a second bag in, just because I don't want to be running to the store every few days for more food. Then bowls--big stainless steel bowls for food and water. Some grooming implements and a gizmo to cut his claws when they get too long.

"Is that a Tibetan Mastiff?" the kid helping me asks. I nod. Might as well, I certainly can't explain where I really got him, and maybe there's some of that genetic material in him anyway. "He's gorgeous." I swear Sigurd preened. He certainly struck a delightful pose. There was a vast pet bed, an eye-opening stockpile of toys and treats, and I was advised in the strongest possible manner to keep my dog active as Tibetan mastiffs are very smart, very strong-willed, and very destructive to wood. I look at Sigurd sideways. There's a lot of wood in the sublet. We have to get a second cart for all the dog stuff. The very last thing we add are little rolls of plastic bags for waste capture on our walks. All of a sudden I'm really grateful for the size of the settlement from Stark Tech. There is barely room in the car for all Sigurd's stuff and Sigurd.

I spend the next couple of hours setting things up to his satisfaction. He eats, he drinks, we go for a walk, I pick up poop. Back home, he disappears and when I go looking for him later, I find him sprawled out on the king size bed. His own bed, the one he loved in the store, is right there. "Naughty dog," I said unenthusiastically. One eye cracks open, then snaps shut as he sees me looking at him.

By the end of the day, I am exhausted from keeping up with Sigurd. I've never been so thrilled to go to a meeting as I am to get to the one with Nick Fury. We're even early.


	25. Sigurd puts on a show

It's good that I got to the meeting early, because there was a snafu with the security.

"Name?" the guard said at the gate.

"Emma Harrington."

"What's your business here? I need to see ID."

"I have a meeting with Nick Fury," I said, passing over my drivers license.

He gets rather unpleasantly close, comparing me to the dreadful picture before handing it back. Sigurd woofs warningly from the back seat. The guard jerks back.

"What's that?" he said sharply. "No pets are allowed."

"*HE* is Sigurd," I say pointedly. "Thor is loaning him to me. He's my guard dog. He goes where I do, and Mr Fury was present when I got Sigurd. So you'll have to call up and check that, because I'm not going anywhere without Sigurd, and you're the one who'll have to answer to Mr Fury if I miss this meeting." The guard glares at me, and without another word, wheels for the guardhouse and gets on the phone, muttering into it. Sigurd whuffles and drops his head onto my shoulder, nearly dislocating it. I scratch behind his ear with my free hand and we wait.

Mr Personality does not come back over or acknowledge my presence in any way. The barrier is just rolled away and I accelerate through it before he can jerk me around. Sigurd sits up. "He is a jerk," I say to him. "Didn't like his authority challenged, especially by a woman." Sigurd mutters something but his muzzle doesn't open. That's good because he doesn't really have an indoor voice and his head is not far from my ear. At the end of the drive is a double-wide trailer overlooking a spot where equipment is preparing a large section of property for construction. I get out, hold the door for Sigurd, and look at this activity hard for a few moments. Sigurd waits patiently. Either Mr Fury has a lot of pull to get land bought and construction started super fast (and he's got Stark on his side, so maybe yeah) or he wasn't lying about the bicoastal presence thing. I run my fingers through Sigurd's fur as I look at the activity and the probable size of the project. "Huh," I say softly, then with a final pat, Sigurd and I walk toward the trailer. The door opens and Mr Fury holds it for us. Inside is a small area with a door that I think must be the bathroom, because the rest is open, with a small kitchenette and a massive conference table with nice chairs.

"Have a seat," he invites me, and I select one that has the best view of my car. It's not that I don't trust Mr Fury, but...I don't. And I don't want anybody fooling around with it, adding any kind of tracker or surveillance device. Then I ask if Sigurd can have some water and am directed to the kitchenette, where I find a mixing bowl that will do. He slurps up about half the water and returns to my side; we move the chairs around a little so he's got room. He's sweet, but not the daintiest drinker; when he puts his head on my leg water soaks through my pants from his chin. I pet him as Fury and I talk about the construction. He pulls up plans using a 3D projector that's installed in the center of the table. There's a building featuring a dome that will be the museum/PR/interactive display thing for the public, then a separate complex up a road, secured, that will house R&D, a cafeteria, a training facility, and housing.

"You'd have an apartment here," Fury tells me. "You'd furnish it however you'd want. Steps from work, which would be convenient if you work late, and secure. You'd work with the architect on your lab." And with that, he describes the research that is being done--lethal options are still being researched, because there are things out there that can't be captured, and really advanced restraints, because there are things out there that can't be killed. New work on alternatives to their traditional arsenal. "What I would like from you is to take over the protective gear that each of the Avengers uses, with the exception of T'challa, as his people take care of his suit and equipment. Their suits, their personal weapons. You may not see an application for your special skills for every weapon, but you'd be expected to analyze and provide an assessment for each piece of gear. You'd be working with textiles, if that works out for you, as well as metals, improving protection, communicating tradeoffs such as increased weight for a specific benefit, or the reverse--less weight for less benefit with the Avenger in question. We expect the numbers of our field personnel to increase as we find them." I nod. He looks at me hard, like he's now expecting some resistance to whatever he's going to say next. "While you would be considered one of the Avengers, it's a designation to give you equal authority on campus, you would not publicly be associated with the team. You would be on the roster as a materials scientist, your role downplayed. That's because there are always leaks, and your abilities will remain in demand with anyone who has muscle and money enough to make a play for you. Obscuring your role in the organization is for your safety because you don't have special defensive abilities or training."

I frown. "Does that mean I'd be stuck on this campus forever? Because that's not going to work."

"No, with precautions, you can go into the city, even travel. But your work and home would be here."

We're interrupted by the door opening; Thor brightens when he sees Sigurd, and with a casual greeting, he and the dog go outside to roughhouse. When Sigurd stands on his hind legs, he's fully as tall as Thor. Housing here is making a lot of sense; Sigurd could run around in the woods at will, so he wouldn't be bored or uncomfortable. Cap and Natasha come in next, trailed by a bemused-looking fellow. "Emma, this is Dr Bruce Banner," Natasha introduces us. I take his hand and we shake. I'd been wondering when the nuclear physicist would make an appearance. We speak a little; he's obviously very sharp, but he seems...ground down, and I wonder how much of that is due to his destructive alter ego and how much from the attraction between him and Natasha that obviously hasn't been acted on, might not have been acknowledged fully.

Spiderman, Peter something, slips in and takes the seat next to Dr Banner; they seem to pick up an earlier conversation about radioactive spiders. I eavesdrop a little and decide that he has a cooler origin story than me, but I've got to wonder, once again, at Tony, for bringing a kid into the Avengers. Then Vision and Thor come in, followed by Sigurd, who manages to express being thrilled with playing around and shame that he's absolutely covered in mud and water. I look at him, aghast, and order him back outside for a good shake. When he comes back in, he's at least less drippy, but I know I'm going to have to find a groomer fast. Stark finally saunters in, and it looks like he's the last one who's scheduled for this meeting, since Fury hits the projector again as Stark takes the chair the farthest away from me. I smirk, then listen as Stark starts to update on the project. He is bankrolling the project as I'd suspected, at least until the government starts kicking in funds. I'm starting to think that if the Avengers can get in a big win with markedly less damage and fewer casualties, that other governments might provide funds too. It wouldn't hurt to provide them with toned-down versions of the tech meant to nullify superhumans for use on the average criminal.

Everybody's looking at me funny, but Fury unexpectedly smiles. Then I realize I've been talking out loud. Whoops. Old habits from the jungle are hard to break. The Avengers start to talk about this for a moment, which infuriates Stark, but I think there's something beyond just being pissed at being interrupted. "Are you worried that you'll lose influence and importance if you're not funding everything?" I say abruptly. For once, I'm not being snide or trying to be hurtful, I actually just want to know. I know I've scored a direct hit when he flinches. Good to know this insecurity; Fury can deal with it. After a quick look at me, that man takes control of the meeting again, and everybody gives action reports, the moment is smoothed over, and Stark again speaks, reporting on the timeline for the project. The housing project will be the first priority, then the labs and the various courses and fields meant for combat training, then the part that's open to the public, which will be at the other end of the property from us.

Yes, us. I'm never going to get another opportunity like this to test my abilities.

Then I realize that when I move here, Thor will probably take Sigurd back to Asgard as I won't really need him. I'm a little sad at the thought. Sigurd is infuriating at times, but he's surprisingly good company. I'll have to make sure I can have a pet when he leaves.

My musings (silent this time) are interrupted by Fury, and I have to ask him to repeat the question. I listen, then smile faintly. "I'm in," I say briefly. There are smiles all around, except for Stark, who just looks constipated, and it seems like a cue, because Stark, Peter, and Vision take off. Fury immediately hands me a file that details compensation and benefits, which are very fine indeed. "Can I have a dog here?" I ask. Fury looks surprised and says I can have pretty much anything I want. It'd be on Stark's dime, so I don't think so.

"Sigurd might like the company," Thor said, beaming at me. "But not too small. A larger dog."

"Aren't you taking him back now that I'll be moving in?" I ask, startled. Thor looks startled too.

"No, he is yours for your lifetime," he says. "He is your guardian. And you will not always be here. There might also be threats from within." He frowns, and Fury waves off the almost operatic plotting that Thor's deriving. I look at Sigurd and smile. And I decide that Stark can spring for a dog groomer on site. I bet other people would like pets too. Maybe we could have a doggy day care. We hit a groomer on the way home; Sigurd loses about ten pounds of mud and emerges with fluffy clean fur, trimmed claws, and a certain prance to his step.

It's good that I've made this decision, because when I get home, I get a letter from the owners of my sublet. The husband is having some health troubles and they're cutting their stay abroad short. I immediately type a letter saying that I'm sorry for their troubles and that I'll vacate the premises before their return date, which was helpfully provided, and send it off by Fed Ex. Then I call Fury to update him and let him know I'll be moving as I start to look at rentals. The housing complex isn't estimated for completion for another five months, and that's with Stark and his substantial completion bonuses.

"Don't bother looking for another place," Fury says. "We've got everybody out here in trailers for the time being. We'll get you one too. Just give us a day or two." We talk about when I have to be out and he calls me back with a firm move-in date of tomorrow. He tells me to let him know where there is furniture to be picked up and somebody will do it for me.

Well, that solves that. I get on the phone and get a cleaner to come and do a detailed cleaning after I've moved out. It's not that Sigurd is dirty (usually) and I haven't been keeping the house clean, it just seems like a nice thing to do. Plus I didn't get permission to have a dog and don't know if either of them are allergic. Or do Asgardians provoke allergies anyway? Then I explain to him what's going on and where we'll be moving, and he gives a hearty woof, then dashes off. He returns with his harness; I leave the leash attached. I grab a roll of plastic bags and we're off.

We have an excellent walk. Several people admire how beautiful he is and a couple of kids glom onto him. He's very patient, but then he's got an ego. Then I need to go shopping. I get a king-sized bed because he's completely over the dog bed and has showed some signs of consideration by keeping to one side and not being an utter bed hog. I make sure it's very sturdy. I get a dresser and a really nice couch with a chaise so that both Sigurd and I will fit. Then a coffee table, a small desk and good desk chair, bookcase, and a dinette set. I have that little table from Austria that will be great as my bedside table and we set up a time when Fury's movers can come pick it up. Then we go to Macy's and Target to pick up sheets and towels and everything else I need for a small place. And then, because Sigurd is a good boy and he isn't comfortable, I head back to the Mercedes dealership, sell them back my cute little car and buy an AMG GLE63 coupe. It's supposed to be an SUV, but it looks more like a crossover. It has an easy-clean leather interior, four doors, and generous seats for Sigurd. And it's a pretty cardinal red. We wait around while they get it ready, then we're off. I sit in the car when we get home and pair my cellphone, then we get out.

We start up the walk; Sigurd is much happier when I let him out. Two men pass by and we stop to let them cross in front of us, but one grabs my wrist and I feel something poking at my arm. I look down and see it's a hypodermic syringe. He keeps poking me with it, trying to get it in but bending the needle, I note with bemusement as I wrench my arm free. Sigurd goes nuts, deep, snarling barks, and his jaw closes on the man's arm. The other man tries to get to me, but Sigurd pulls away and goes after that one too. I call Fury immediately as Sigurd is putting down the second man; the first one is trying to staunch the blood pouring out of the arm that Sigurd savaged and has completely lost interest in me. I yell for Sigurd, shocked at what's happened so fast, and run into the house, my dog right behind me, and lock the door. Maybe five minutes later, two black sedans pull up sharply as I look through the window, and four men follow the blood trail while Fury himself strolls up. I open the door to him, keeping my hand on Sigurd to help calm him down. He's doing this growly mumble thing that makes me think he's still riled up. I'm a little shaky myself, but it's not nearly as bad as the crowd incidents in South America.

"Pack your bags," he directs me. He takes a seat while I pack my suitcase; I've only cracked one of the boxes my realtor sent me from Austria, so there isn't much to pack. I make a final tour, making sure that I haven't forgotten anything; I nearly overlooked the torq Heimdall had given me. Don't want to leave that behind. The men come back with my attackers and two of them leave with their prisoners. I really am rattled, but I insist on driving to the compound myself. The remaining two guys load my stuff and the bags with Sigurd's things into their car and we caravan over to the compound.

We're back into the conference room table and I tell Fury what happened from after the call where we'd set up my housing to when the cavalry arrived, and he asked questions, some of which I couldn't answer since I hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. While we talked, I wet some paper towels and wiped the blood off Sigurd. Some had splashed on me, but it wasn't too bad and I'd change later. He'd calmed down but was still grouchy, so I put down food and water while Fury and I talked. Then Natasha showed up and took me to my new trailer; plumbers were working on hooking up the facilities. My stuff was already piled inside, but the furniture wouldn't be there for another couple days. Natasha and I talked it over, and after she left she came back an hour later with two of those air mattresses with the built-in pumps. I spread the blankie I'd gotten over one of them and Sigurd got on it warily and went right to sleep. Later, Wanda came by to collect me for a group dinner in the conference trailer. We watched a little tv, then scattered for the evening. Sigurd and I made it an early night.


	26. Getting to work

The next few days are...transitional. I spend a lot of time in the conference room until my furniture arrives as scheduled. Sigurd loves it; when there's somebody in with me or it's quiet, he goes out to play around in the forest. Periodically I see him running flat out, playing with Thor or one of the others. He quickly becomes very popular. Even Stark spends time with him.

The day after I arrive, Fury presents me with a stack of textbooks on textile technology, so when I'm not looking at peoples' stuff, I start learning about my new field. At night, I plow through the anatomy and physiology textbooks. I want a good grounding in the body before I get into cell biology. Which is probably going to be sucky, I think, I'm a hard sciences kind of gal. Bio is too squishy for me, but I am quite motivated.

First up, I take another look at Cap's shield. It's pristine and I gloat to myself for a full minute. The molecular structure is almost perfect, and I'm happy with that. I make a few notes based on what I see in terms of alloys I'd like to try and where I think I can substitute vibranium atoms. I take his notes on its performance and what his ideal shield would be like. I start thinking about getting a forge going; my hands are itchy and it's not some new weird skin condition, it's just idleness taking its toll. Then I contact a patent lawyer. I want to use my kick-ass solar panels (Seattle is a lot sunnier than you'd believe if you've never spent a lot of time there) and there's no way I'm letting Stark take control of my tech. It's actually the only "tech" thing I've made and it doesn't even rely heavily on my unique abilities. I wouldn't have figured it out if I couldn't see the bonding and push things around now and then, though. I wait until the lawyer files for the patent before ordering the stuff I need to make them, and chat with Fury about where I can put my forge. It's pretty easy; he just shrugs and tells me to pick a site as long as it isn't where there is active construction. My trailer is at the end of the "street", so I put it out in back of that. If we get more supers, they're going to start on another street. It's the world's first superpower trailer park. I go to home improvement stores and order the quantities of things I'll need. I'm going to make it nicer than the one in the jungle; I'll retain the kiln-like structure around the forge, but make a nice workshop that is nearby.

The day the cinderblocks arrive for the kiln/forge, the others are in a briefing for an op, and since that's not my job, I go supervise the placement of my building materials. It's still winter, but mild, so I've made some adjustments to the mortar I'll use to stick them together. I think it will work, but if it doesn't, I'll just dink around with changes until either it works or it's warm enough to use regular mortar. I'd had the little site graded the day before, took a couple hours, but it's pretty level. Enough that I don't have to worry about making adjustments. I bring Sigurd's dog bed out so he can watch, and start laying cinderblocks. I start the walls around the pile of cinderblocks; it's easier to work from the inside, and most of the cinderblocks will be used in the construction, so it's no big deal. I cut a bunch of them in half before things get really busy so that I don't have to stop and start.

It goes up pretty fast; the wall is up to my hip when the others come over after their meeting. "What are you doing?" Cap asks, then takes a second look, recognizing the basic structure. "Oh. Can I help? Looks like it's going up pretty fast."

"I won't turn down a hand, thanks," I say, and soon he's bringing me cinderblocks. I slap on a layer of mortar, we repeat. Peter is curious about the whole thing but he hasn't had a lot of exposure to manual labor so he observes and asks questions. Sam cuts more cinderblocks, and Thor, who like Peter has never done construction, plays with Sigurd, who is utterly bored. Hawkeye checks for level and takes over with the mortar so I can make more, keeping up with demand. Stark just watches. It doesn't take any time at all, practically, to get the walls up and Thor, as the tallest one, sets the metal beams to support the roof. These are quickly surrounded by bricks so that the building will be pretty tight and retain the heat when I need it to. We all take a break and eat pizza for lunch, then Natasha and I pass metal sheets up to Wanda, who rivets them into place. Then there's a roll of underlayment and Natasha helps Wanda put on the shingles. It's a pretty small building and the roof has a gentle slope, so the work again goes pretty fast. The shingles are there mostly to keep the metal roof from reflecting too much heat onto the back side of the solar panels. I wish I could come up with a device to capture the thermal energy, but let's be realistic; the solar panels are my great accomplishment with tech, and that's basically because I got lucky.

"Now what?" Clint asks as Natasha and Wanda hop down. He's energized by the activity.

"Tomorrow the door will arrive," I say, and he immediately volunteers to help put it in.

It's so weird to have all this help. But nice. Nice/weird. Cap and Thor find out when I'm expecting my anvil and other heavy equipment to be delivered and promise to put them where I want. Another construction party is planned to help assemble the workshop, which is prefab and will be delivered in pieces. I listen in bemusement as the Avengers squabble over who will do what. Peter is eager to to join the older guys in the work. Fury comes up beside me.

"A team can be unexpectedly helpful," he observes. "Everybody gets help. It's not just about what one member can provide to the rest." He smiles and walks over to where Stark is trying to goad Cap into using his shield as a Frisbee for Sigurd.


	27. Whack-a-mole--every time things are going well, something new pops up

Spring rolls around before I know it. The forge is up and running although I spend most of my time in the workshop, which was a priority, and for which I paid myself. I didn't want Stark to have a claim on my home-from-home, and I got some interesting tech to use in it. Stark has spun off a division of Stark Tech specifically for the Avengers and their relocation is pending completion of the research block. I meet with the textile specialists every now and again, but mostly I just get test samples in the mail and files showing the testing they've done and the results. I've got a couple of promising treatments for the created fibers, and I sent my first shipment of coated fabric back to the testing facility. My testing consisted of giving the length of fabric to everybody on the team to try to destroy. It held up pretty well, so durability is looking promising they'll do heat and freezing testing, whether it holds up to washing, that kind of thing.

In the quest to build Steve's perfect shield, I've made a number of prototypes of the classic round shield, varying the diameter and its curve very slightly, sometimes only by a millimeter. He takes these things out and trains on the obstacle course to determine which one works the best. One prototype is the best for throwing, but it doesn't feel quite right on his arm when he's using it for protection. Neither of us can figure out why such a small difference in the dimensions makes such a big impact, but we've agreed on the specific model and we're hoping that the next stage of the process, coming up with metals for the composition, will make it all better, somehow.

The only thing I could do for Natasha's Widow's Bite bracelets was to modify a few components with a gold/vibranium alloy to make them impervious to corrosion and stuffed a little solar charger in along the top edge so that they don't run down their charge as quickly. For Hawkeye, there was no point in messing with his arsenal; his arrow shafts are precision-machined to his exacting standards and everything works very well for him. Likewise, there was nothing to be done for Peter, as he uses very little metal, Vision, Wanda, or Thor, for the same reason. Scott, Sam and Jim depend on their suits, which work satisfactorily for them, so unless there's something that they need improved, there's no need to mess with their stuff. Tony hasn't asked for a consult, but his stuff works for him, so there's no reason to push there either. Bruce has asked me to work on some quick-deploy manacles for the next time the Other Guy gets out of control, and I'm working with research--they'll come up with a model, and I'll come up with the metal. I really think the Hulk tries to be good, but he can only control the rage that fuels his existence for so long. If the manacles are successful, we might try other types of restraints that could be deployed from a distance. All of this is additionally being considered for inclusion in the Avenger's arsenal.

Thor let me examine Mjolnir as a special favor, placing it on my benchtop. I didn't have to touch it to examine it. From a metal worker's standpoint, it's nothing special, a chunk of alloy that has some lovely knotwork carved into the edges. But the thing practically crawls with weirdness. There's a force, fine and light like spider silk around beach balls, that I can barely see when I drop down to the atomic level. But it's there, and it threads through the space between atoms. It allows electrons to pass through, swear to god, but strengthens and improves the molecular bonds. I poked at it once but it didn't move; Thor nudged it around for me. When he touched it, the...whatever....actually glowed and strengthened. "That is some next-level shit," I told him matter-of-factly, blinking hard as my vision spun up to normal again. He didn't get the MiB reference, but Peter did, and snickered. I smiled at him and explained what I saw. To the group, everybody'd been interested to find out what made Thor's hammer so special. I had a little party in my workshop.

"Meaning that I have no idea what that is or where it came from," I told Thor, shrugging. "It's not like anything I saw on Asgard. I can't begin to posit a source, an explanation, anything." I leaned back in my chair and stretched out my feet. "For all I know, it's magic."

Thor looked taken aback, and we all looked at Bruce, who also shrugged. "I've never heard of anything like that," he said mildly. "That shouldn't, by our current understanding of physics, exist."

"But we could research it," Stark interjected. Bruce smiled at him.

"Doesn't mean that you'll ever be able to pick it up, Tony," he said, and we all laughed. Jim slapped him on the back and Stark flushed a little with embarrassment. Thor had picked up his hammer and was staring at it like he'd never seen it before.

"I will inquire the next time I see my father," he murmured, then looked up again, focused on a new thought. "Now that my father has emerged from the Odinsleep again, my presence on Asgard is not required and I will be able to spend more time here." Smiles all around and a woof from Sigurd greeted this statement. "But we also have to deal with Loki." The smiles vanish, especially from those who have met him. "My father would like to request a meeting with you. Here." That provokes a spate of questions.

"Can you get us the design for whatever security cells you keep your prisoners in?" I ask Thor. He looks at me in surprise. "Well, isn't the favor going to be keeping Loki here for some period of time?" He blushes a bit.

"Yes," he admits. "The king my father believes it might be possible for Loki to redeem himself if he is exposed to another way of life."

"Plus it removes him from temptation and gets him out of your hair," Bruce murmurs, and Thor inclines his head.

Clint erupts. "I can't even believe you're considering this!" As he vents, he rips a fifty from his wallet and shoves it at Cap for the swear jar in the conference room. And proceeds to use up that fifty in the colorful expression of his unhappiness. We're going to use the swear jar proceeds for a big TV and DVD player for the conference room and a big pizza/movie party when we get enough money; that time is approaching quicker than we'd anticipated.

When Clint shows signs of winding down and Peter's vocabulary has been expanded, Nick steps in. "We haven't even heard the formal proposal," he says in that stylish, laid-back way. "It doesn't do any harm to listen; we can always refuse after discussing it. And you might consider the satisfaction of having him under your observation and control," he says to Clint, who snaps his mouth shut and starts to consider it.

"He won't have the staff weapon," Natasha tells him, and he tilts his head. Everybody starts to chat, and I get a little nervous.

"Um, let's remember that there are protocols for testing," I interject. "Asgard isn't a party to the international conventions addressing the treatment of prisoners, Loki isn't human, but--" Thor looks at me with alarm and Nick smiles.

"Not to worry," he says. "There won't be any vivisection." I roll my eyes, and Clint looks a little disappointed, but then he went around for awhile as Loki's meat puppet, so it's understandable. "Let's table this until we hear the proposal," he says, elevating his voice slightly, and the babble of conversation dies down.

"I'll get you that information," Thor mutters to me, then he and Nick discuss details for Odin's state visit. The housing block is due to be complete within a month, so it's decided that Odin can visit when we've moved in. I think we all feel it would be embarrassing to host the ruler of another planet in a trailer.


	28. The preparation commences

It's time to cast the core of Steve's new shield, and I'm a little nervous. It's an emblem as much as a weapon, and I don't want to get it wrong. I have the sand table made up, and I'm giving it a last inspection before I pour on the metal. The alloy I've got melting still has a bit of lead since its malleability is crucial, but I've replaced the aluminum with vibranium and added some additional elements. It will be fussier to work with, but I'm hopeful. As I study the sand, I make a note to test a different option with Steve for the parts that attach the straps. Maybe they need to be moved, or angled, or something. Finally I quit stalling and bring out the crucible with the liquid metal. Once I've poured carefully, I return the crucible to the forge, heating it high enough to clean it out. Don't want contamination for the next melt, and I don't want anybody taking samples, either. I turn off the forge and bring out the cooler with my lunch so I can enjoy the nice spring day outside rather than being stuck in my workshop. Sigurd gallops up, having no interest in metal casting, and I offer him a chicken breast. He inhales that, then pads inside for some kibble and water. A couple of ravens alight in a tree nearby as they've been doing for a couple of weeks now, and I toss them the crusts from one of my sandwiches.

Steve arrives when I'm almost done, and we discuss the shield and my ideas about the grips, and he's enthusiastic about trying different configurations. Thor shows up, looking for Steve, and Sigurd pads out to greet him. We've got less than a week until Odin arrives, and Thor's been badgering us all to be sure we're all moved in so the trailers can be removed, and Tony is making us nuts for telling us to use coasters and not put our feet on the furniture so it all looks perfect. Sigurd and I are moving in today; in fact, after I shape the shield some, we're going to go unpack. Everything's been moved for us, so it's just a matter of emptying and getting rid of the boxes. The housing wing surprised me; it's three levels, but nobody has the penthouse because there isn't one. Tony designed it so that we're all on the two bottom floors and there is a gym, swimming pool, conference rooms, and a big multi-purpose room where we can all hang out, with the tv and BluRay player we bought, a sound system, a bar, pool table, foozball table, darts, stuff like that. Lots of seating areas. We've all taken to hanging out there in our free time. My suite is on the bottom floor, right by the door. There's a device with a key of Sigurd's collar that enables him to get in the building door and the suite without me, which is good because he's awfully lazy in the morning and doesn't want to get up when I do. The new cafeteria is across the street and is several hundred notches better than my university cafeteria. The tables can seat a few or be pushed together for a crowd, the food is delicious, they have a liquor license so they can serve wine and beer with dinner, and of course it's very tastefully decorated. It should be good enough for an interstellar king.

You can hear the construction continuing on the R and D block, and we're chatting about nothing in particular, as I pick tufts of fur out of Sigurd's coat. The groomer says he's blowing his coat, which apparently means that he's getting rid of his dense, soft underfur all at once. I groom assiduously every night, and I'm sure that I've gotten enough fur out to make Sigurd a friend, but it just keeps coming out. I pile it on the ground so if the ravens want to use it in their nests they can. Thor listens to my explanation in good humor, but stiffens when he sees the ravens. "Father," he bellows rather threateningly, and I look at Steve sideways. He looks puzzled too, so it's not just me thinking it's weird that Thor thinks his dad is a couple of birds. One of them squawks tauntingly and they fly away. Thor turns to us. "Hugin and Munin are my father's familiars," he says, biting the words off.

"Your dad's a witch?" I ask, puzzled, and this makes Thor snort a laugh.

"No, but he uses them as his eyes and ears where he cannot be," he says. "How long have they been here?"

"Couple weeks," I say. "They show up during lunch, mostly. I give them some bread."

Thor smirks. "I thought they looked fat," he says with satisfaction. "Father is getting information on those he must work with here."

It's my turn to snort as I get up and pry the shield off the sand. "He's wasting his time," I say absently, looking over the rough form. "I don't make policy, I'm just the blacksmith."

"You are an unknown entity," Thor corrects me, reaching over to touch the shield, but burns himself. I point toward the sink in the workshop. When he comes back, shaking water off his hands, he continues, "And you're an armorer. He will be very curious. You are very small to be working in a forge. I mean no offense," he said, holding up his hand. "And your methods are not ours. I have informed him of my promise to you, made while I was acting king, that you are not to be forced back to Asgard against your will. He has agreed to honor that promise, but you should be wary of any offers to entice you to visit. You would not be held prisoner, but you would find it difficult to leave before he allows it." My lips thin and I take the shield into the forge for the next stage, which is to heat the shield again and work the metal a little with the hammer. Sigurd stays outside; his ears are sensitive. I strike the metal with more force than is needed as I thin the metal slightly, evening it out, work hardening it. The men watch from outside until I heat the shield until it glows, then leave it inside the building, locking the door behind me, so that it can cool slowly and anneal. I push my sand table back through the french doors of my workshop, and survey the area to be sure I'm not leaving anything out. It looks like it might rain later.

"I've got a job," I say tensely as I lock my workshop.

"I agree," Thor says placatingly. "It is why I warned you to take care. I have also cautioned my father against trying to draw you to Asgard."

I feel a little less grumpy. We all start to walk back to the housing block, chatting about how we're going to decorate our rooms. The boys laugh at me when I tell them that the thing I'm most excited about is the deep soaker tub in the bathroom. There's also a spacious utility room at the other end of the hall that has a long, low tub and table where I can wash and dry Sigurd. Sam is also interested in getting a dog. We talk about the proposed trip tomorrow; a bunch of us are going into Seattle to shop for things we might need or want for our new accommodations. Thor is having his dad bring a bunch of stuff, including an armor stand, so he's going to stay here and hang out with Sigurd. He doesn't like shopping. Either of them, actually. Sigurd got yelled at for shedding on the furniture at the store when we looked for furniture for the trailer even though he wasn't even shedding at the time.

The party splits when we get to the housing block; Thor is up on the second floor with Jim, Sam, Tony, T'Challa (when he's here), Vision, and Bruce. On the ground floor with Steve and me are Natasha, Clint, Peter (when he's here), Wanda, and Scott. There are a couple empty suites on each floor, and a whole second wing where Nick decided to live, visiting dignitaries can stay, along with new Avengers if the team gets big enough, and several rooms where scientists and other personnel can stay overnight if they're working late.

Sigurd and I unpack, consult with each other, and arrange things before going to the third floor; it's a bit of a ritual now; we meet for a cocktail and unwind, then go for dinner. Sigurd goes back to the suite; he gets a little pudgy if he hits the dining room too often. He's a favorite there and the chefs like to treat him. Back at the third floor, we hang out until there's a call for an action. They dash off to suit up, and I head downstairs with my dog. It's down in Atlanta, so they'll probably back tomorrow in time for the shopping, Natasha says. I pick up my book on cell biology and read for awhile before Sigurd flops on the bed and we go to sleep.


	29. I give interstellar diplomacy a shot

The next day, after naps, those of us who want to go shopping clean up and meet in the parking lot. We compare shopping lists, and we divide into groups based on how similar they are. My group consists of Steve, Natasha, Wanda and me. Steve would probably be more comfortable with the other guys, but it was determined that Sigurd would draw more attention to us, defeating the low-key desired aspect, and Nick wants me to have a physical deterrent with me in public, just in case the bad guys show up when I'm trying on blouses. I mean, granted, there are some bad people looking for me, but Natasha is pretty lethal and Wanda is a whole defense network in her own right, but apparently a guy who can punch a bunch of people out is what I need, so we get the bodyguard on the theory that Steve, without his suit, isn't as recognizable as Thor. Thor gets to stay home and play with Sigurd.

I think Steve feels that Thor is skiving off on the workload, but he's a real leader and takes one for the team without complaint.

I pick up a couple of beautiful rugs, and a larger desk, a nicer bookcase. The suite is larger than my old trailer, and it's nice to have the freedom to pace as I think, but I'm also messy and the larger desk is a real luxury. The other ladies pick up a few things each as well, then we go to a sporting goods store where Steve gets a few punching bags. The beams in his suite were reinforced to allow a permanent suspension point; he likes to punch the bag when he's working out thorny problems.

Then we go to a few department stores for clothing and shoe shopping; Steve takes a seat at the edge of the clothing section, flees into the housewares section when we get to the lingerie section, and cautiously rejoins the party in shoes, where he gets a few pairs for himself. Now that I'm actively more social than I've been since the accident, I've been improving my wardrobe. Yoga pants and geek t-shirts are great for work, but it shows some respect for my companions if I don't wear them 24/7. And then there's Odin's visit. Out of respect for Thor, who is pretty tense about this, and a desire to show Odin that his son isn't slumming, we've all pretty much decided to take special care with our appearances, hence the high-end shopping. Then we meet up with the other boys except for Tony and Thor, checking the alterations on their new suits. We ladies sit on the couch and comment as the boys come out to look in the mirrors and have the tailor evaluate the fit. They're a good-looking bunch; Sam is the most edgy, Jim the most conservative. They found Steve some retro suits, subtly updated, and Peter's suits, discreetly padded in the shoulders, helps to make him look more mature and less gangly. We select some ties to replace ones that are terminally boring, some coordinating pocket squares. After that, we get lunch at a restaurant, then hit Target and an office supply store on the way home; all of us have everyday things we need to get.

When we get back home, Thor and Tony are shooting pool and are glad to hear that we'll be a sharp-looking crew for the visit. We dump our stuff in our rooms and hang out for awhile, just relaxing a little in the calm before the storm. Then Nick shows up with a proposed schedule for the next couple days; fortunately, Odin isn't staying long. 

The next morning, I dress in a tasteful navy suit, the skirt straight and just past the knee, the jacket fitted, with welt pockets and a shaped neckline. The fabric is a lovely silk-wool blend, and I wear fine leather pumps with a respectable heel and the pearl earrings and strand that my grandparents had given me when I graduated from high school. I put my hair up in a twist and admired the nice contrast between the white and my dark suit. Subtle makeup, the merest hint of perfume, a handkerchief in my pocket, and I was ready to go. I'd made Sigurd a metal collar rather than his everyday nylon collar; it was a smooth sheet of metal, slightly curving, that sat against his chest at the base of his neck. I'd tried my hand at a little repousse and done a knotwork design at the front, hiding the electronic key to the locks in the housing block on the reverse side. He looked very distinguished.

We met in on the third floor as we weren't entirely sure when Odin would be showing up. Thor was in his full armor, but the rest of us looked like we were going into a meeting with the board of directors. We'd only been waiting about a half an hour when the Bifrost light first slanted down, and we hustled outside fast. In a blinding beam of light, figures resolved into Odin on a really funky-looking horse, Thor's four best friends, and a few men I didn't recognize. The horse reared back on four legs, then settled down as Heimdall closed the Bifrost. Thor strode forward, taking the reins of the horse, greeting him as Sleipnir, and the eight-legged horse stilled as Odin dismounted. Heck of an entrance. I wondered where we'd put the horse. I tried not to look at him; the anatomy with the four extra legs was weird and he looked kind of spiderish in front. Nick came forward, Thor introduced him after a manly hug with his dad, and Odin introduced the men he'd brought as...what? Advisors? Entourage? Some of both? Thor's personal posse moved to stand by his side as Nick introduced the Avengers. 

Sigurd stood by my side as Nick and Odin worked their way down the line; Thor was chatting with his friends but keeping an eye out. I was pleased when Odin greeted Sigurd, who'd worked hard not to mess up his fluffy fur. Sigurd was delighted to be addressed, prancing in place, tail wagging hard, as Odin spoke to him before finally giving him a good skritch behind the ears. Odin studied me keenly as Nick introduced me as the team's armorer. I took a look at his spear, which positively made my skin crawl. Mjolnir's otherworldly qualities were subtle, but this thing's power practically roiled off it. Odin noticed my unease.

"This is Gungnir,"he said, looking at the spear. It looked as much a symbol of his kingship as a weapon, as he handled it with the ease of long use.

He offered it to me, but I stepped back.

"I don't think it's for me to hold, Odin Borson," I said, and his eyebrows raised at the acknowledgement of his lineage. "The last battle of Asgardians and the Frost Giants left a lasting impression on Norse culture," I said by way of explanation. "Thor confirmed what has been remembered here as mythology."

"It is well that my son remembers his heritage," Odin said, but his pride in his son was plain to hear. They moved on to greet Peter, who was awestruck, and Thor came forward and introduced the men who had accompanied Odin as the commander of the royal Guard and two advisors of his father. After the introductions, Thor removed Sleipnir's impressive tack and Sigurd stayed outside with him as the rest of us went to the conference room. The woods used in the table were rich and rare, but the room was quite plain, and I wondered what the Asgardians would think. Their spaces were ornamented and lofty.

The Asgardians, in their impressive armor, gave off a whiff of costume in the American conference room. A little overdressed, a lot too big; Thor usually wore typical American casual clothing if he wasn't being an Avenger and I'd gotten used to his size, but the addition of the others was more overwhelming and made the room lopsided as they were at one side of the oval table with Nick, Tony, and Steve; the rest of us looked a lot smaller as we faced across the table.

There were some additional pleasantries, beverages offered and accepted. Odin tried coffee for the first time and decided, after adding copious cream and sugar, that he quite liked it. The other Asgardians were not as enthusiastic and tried other options; fruit juices were much more popular. Once that was over, Nick invited Odin to get down to brass tacks, which he was pleased to do.

"The purpose of my visit is twofold," he said, commanding our attention, which we respectfully gave him. "First, I wished to meet the companions who claim so much of my son's attention. Second, I thought to propose a closer relationship between Asgard and and this band of heroes." Ah, I thought, crafty. It's not going to be presented as a favor we could do for a powerful king, but more of an exchange, and that could cover a lot of things. And that didn't involve the government, with their restrictions, demands, and desire to leverage the hell out of the opportunity.

"And what would be the opening gesture of this proposed relationship?" Nick asked, and I smiled blandly as he took control of the situation.

"I believe you know or at least know of my other son, Loki," Odin said gravely. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clint scowl. Odin nodded to him. "I understand that he used you ill, and for this I apologize. His actions were not worthy of our house."

"I'm surprised you continue to acknowledge him as your son," Wanda said. "He is adopted, is he not?"

Odin's face was grave. "Frigga did not birth him, but he is my son," he said firmly. "Even if he wishes it were not so. And Loki represents the chief of what I mean to ask. I propose that you hold him here, on Earth. We would work with you on his containment cell, but it is my hope that extended acquaintance with others would help modify his opinions, open his mind."

"Take down his ego," Thor muttered, and Odin graced him with a small smile.

Then questions were asked and answered. Clint remained coldly furious, but the others were coming around. "Why Earth?" I asked during a lull. "He tried to invade us with an alien army and rule, which frankly shows a complete lack of understanding of the human psyche if he thought it would be that easy to exercise dominion. That diversion aside, you're asking us to risk everything. We represent no government and have just barely regained acceptance of our existence. If it comes out that we're sheltering an interstellar war criminal..." I let my voice trail away. 

The other Avengers nodded, considering this. "Because I have faith that you will treat him fairly without relaxing your vigilance," Odin replied. "And if you agree, we would share some technology that should work in your realm, as well as providing a safe haven if Loki manages to cause an incident." It's not an inconsiderable offer, and when the vote comes, only Clint and I vote no. Clint's fury is almost palpable, so Odin asks me why I voted against the proposal.

"From what I've heard, Loki is very smart, very quick, and very bored. It's a hat trick of trouble, and I worry that a) he'll manage to suborn our people, sway them to his side, and cause quite a lot of trouble. B) it sounds like he was raised with the expectation that he was fit to rule. There's no proposed substitution for that ambition, and that's where the boredom is also a special concern. I think that whatever type of cell is built for him, that he'll be controlled physically well enough, but as soon as he opens his mouth, there's a whole host of problems. And that ability to multiply himself and change his appearance," I shake my head slowly. "I don't even know where to go with that. It's not a no vote because I don't think we can do it. It's a no vote because I don't think it's possible over the long term for anybody, and I don't want to have to relocate to some other world because Loki gets out. I intend to stay on Earth.

"Additionally, one of us has been seriously damaged as a direct result of Loki's caprice. I would call it a violation of his personal integrity. These men and women are my brothers and sisters in arms, and harm has been done to Clint that has not been mended." I shake my head. "I don't doubt your sincerity that you're sorry for the harm your son has caused. I think, in fact, that we're quite united in regret for what Loki has done. But there has not been once, in the whole discussion of this plan, where anybody has offered Clint any help or recompense, or....anything to attempt to make up for what was done to him." I snort. "And he's not the only one who has suffered from Loki's mind control. A very fine physicist had a psychotic break as a result, running around Stonehenge in the buff. Now people think he's a nut rather than respecting his talents and abilities."

"What would you have me do?" I think I've pissed off Odin; his voice trembles with might, but I'm not afraid of him. Which is probably so, so stupid of me.

"I don't know. I'm not the person who's been wronged," I say simply. "And I have no answers for the other concerns." Nick steps in and calls for a break; I scoot downstairs to use my bathroom, then out to see how Sigurd is doing. I catch him in the middle of a roll in the grass with the weird horse, and he bounds over, woofing to tell me what he's been doing.

"You know you're my buddy and I love having you here," I say, scratching his head. "But if you want to go back to Asgard, you can," I say. "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to." Sigurd drops his butt to the ground and looks at me admonishingly.

"If you have earned his loyalty, he will not leave you," a sonorous voice says, and I look around to see the portly guy who's Thor's buddy. Volstagg? "It is the nature of his kind."

"I don't want you to regret it," I say to Sigurd, who woofs once more, butts me with his head, and returns to the horse for more romping around.

"He is in good hands," the man says. "There are not many who speak so plainly to the Allfather," he says as we turn back toward the building. I shrug.

"He asked what my concerns were. If he didn't want to know, he shouldn't have asked," I say. There's nothing really to be said after that, and we return to the conference room. This time there are desserts on the table as well. I smile at the bounty of cookies, tartlets, slices of cake, an assortment of chocolates. Somebody was really trying to sweeten us all up.

"You know we're going to go ahead and do this," Nick murmurs, materializing by my side. I shrug.

"I figured; we're outvoted, and there are some good reasons to do it. I just wanted all the angles to be considered."

Before sitting down again, we serve ourselves and I take a mini mound of seven minute icing on a chilled plate that turns out to be a tiny baked Alaska. Others were waiting for me to try it, because after we've explained what it is to the visitors, they sample them as well. The desserts work, because I'm feeling more expansive and I don't even sigh when Nick agrees to keep Loki. It's a little depressing to realize I can be bought for dessert.

There will be a committee to plan Loki's containment unit and the conditions and protocols under which he'll be held. I'm not surprised when Nick volunteers me, but I'm not excited either. I just know this is going to blow up in our faces somehow. There is more discussion, and while I listen, I don't volunteer anything and this time nobody asks me for my opinion. Proof that anybody can be taught.

Then we draw the meeting to a close and take a break before dinner. Wanda, Natasha, and I go downstairs to change. "Do you really think this is going to blow up?" Natasha asks me, and I nod.

"Yep. You've met the guy, do you think that it will end well or that he's going to be content to sit in the basement indefinitely?"

"I guess not," she says. 

"I think Wanda will be key to defending against the guy," I say and she looks startled. "You've got mental abilities the rest of us don't." We separate on the first floor, and Sigurd has beaten me home. I take a little time and brush him vigorously, then change into an evening suit, deep blue-purple silk, with a portrait collar and full skirt, reminiscent of the New Look, with stiletto heels and the torq Heimdall gave me. I put a little curl in the ends of my hair and leave it down, putting on evening makeup and picking up a small satin purse.

Sigurd and I walk to the dining room, which has been gussied up with embroidered linen tablecloths and napkins, bone china, sterling flatware, fine crystal, flower arrangements, and a string quartet. I see place cards, and a server is nudging things around to cover for a missing place setting. I wonder if Clint has decided against dinner. Don't blame him. Before the guests arrive, I scan the seating chart and find that I'm on Thor's right and Nick's left. I guess they don't want me to cause any more trouble. I snort as the others begin to arrive and I see space being made beside me at the table to accommodate Sigurd. Hors d'oeuvres are passed and I share mine with Sigurd.

"That is a pretty dress," Thor said, appearing just as a fresh arrangement of nibbles comes past. I take some crudities and Thor samples a few things.

"Thanks. How are things going?" I ask.

"Father still wants me to return to Asgard, prepare to take over from him. He will not take no for an answer."

"Well, it's not like he's got a lot of other options now,' I point out, and Thor nods reluctantly. Then I grin. It is an evil grin. "You know one way to get him off your back," I say, and he looks interested. "Get married. Have a son, who then Odin can see to instructing in kingship. You're off the hook." Thor simultaneously manages to look horrified and intrigued. "I could not do that to my son," he said. "Besides, there is no woman whom I love enough." He looked sad, and I knew he was still pining after Dr Foster.

"There's always Sif," I say ruthlessly. "She's from a good family, you're friends, she likes you. Or you could bargain for time." I look at him a little bleakly. "You know we don't have anything approaching your lifespan. And we can all be killed. Well, maybe not Bruce. How long do you think your ties to Earth will last after your friends here are gone? You can bargain with your dad to return in forty years or so. That's nothing in a life like yours." Thor looks troubled. I poke him with my elbow. "Sif looks really pretty tonight, " I point out. She'd brought something to change into too and did look lovely. I nodded to her as she looked around and she came over. I greeted her, then left to do the mingle thing. 

Odin approached me as I was talking to the commander and feeding Sigurd a couple of bites of Waygu beef. He studies me momentarily and his commander melts away. "You need not fear that you will be forcibly removed to Asgard and not allowed to leave," he says with a sigh. I arch an eyebrow at him. "My son reminds me of the weight of the word of the king," he admits. "Also, Heimdall refuses." A grin slides across my mouth. "He believes that you can manipulate matter and energy down to the particles," he says flatly and the smile leaves immediately. "He also reminds me that we have no real need for your abilities since you can only work on one object at a time. He tells me not to be so acquisitive. Hah!" he snorts. "I must concede he is right. I am no Collector. " He changes the topic abruptly, and compliments the torq I'm wearing. I have the feeling he knows where I got it. Then he asks how Sigurd and I are getting along.

After telling him how great Sigurd is, I mention that I'm thinking about getting him a friend. "He's so sociable, and he doesn't always have somebody to pal around with. There's a breed of dog here that looks a lot like him and is almost as big." We're interrupted by the announcement of dinner, and Odin escorts me to my place before going on to his own. Sigurd sits down as Nick holds my chair for me, and dinner is served.


	30. We start to Lokify the place

The Asgardians head out after dinner and some additional socializing. I'm glad to see the horse leaving. It's pretty creepy to look at.

The next day, Thor returns with the commander of the royal Guard, the captain of the prison deep underneath the palace, where Loki is currently kept, and two specialists--one in security, another in construction. Thor seeks me out where I'm waiting with Sigurd and a team to welcome the Asgardians. 

"Father bade me bring this to you," he said brightly, striding over with something tucked under his arm. I put out my hands and he gives me....a puppy. Brown and fluffy and wiggly, it licks my hand enthusiastically and I have to put it down before its wiggles make me drop it. Sigurd carefully touches his nose to the puppy. "It is Sigurd's son, from the last litter he sired," Thor tells us, and Sigurd looks up, surprised and a little worried. The puppy must resemble his mom a lot. "It is with his mother's consent that the puppy is allowed to be here. It is felt that he will benefit from his father's example and teaching." Which means that he's probably a real handful. I'm suddenly grateful that my furniture isn't expensive or rare, and, just in case, decide to wrap the legs of the Austrian table until I know whether this little guy likes to chew.

"Please tell me he's housebroken," I say urgently, and Thor smiles.

"He is," he confirms. "And Sigurd will be able to help you keep him from chewing on things."

"What's his name?" I asked, watching Sigurd get used to his son. He was so cute, all round and furry.

"You must name him," he said. "He will return to Asgard at some point, so please select a dignified name." I smirk.

Then it's time to get to work. They bring the plans for the cell Loki inhabits, but right off the bat we know it's to going to work here because there's magic involved, that weird force I've seen in Odin and Thor's weapons, and we can't manage it effectively and reliably. We have an architect and two security experts on our side, and I watch only, because this is definitely not my area of expertise. We relocate to the conference room where there's plenty of room to spread out and work on the problem. Tony shows up a bit later and jumps in. He is a pain in the ass, but he is useful.

While they're discussing an interesting system of electricity between two panes of glass that would electrocute anybody who broke them, I ask Thor what Loki's like.

"Who were his parents, if he's adopted?" I ask quietly, so as not disturb the others. "Does he have any contact with his birth family?" 

Thor looks around and answers even more softly. "He is a Frost Giant." I look blank, and he explains about Jotunheim and its late ruler Laufey.

"Why can't he go back there to rule, if he wants a throne and he's one of them?"

"He killed his father," Thor points out, "who had abandoned him, and Jotunheim is a miserable place. It would be better if they had the Casket of Ancient Winters again, but a return of their power would mean a return to war and invasion of the other realms, including this one."

"Ok, suboptimal," I say. I get him to explain Frost Giant physiology as he understands it and discard the idea of using heat as a method of control since it doesn't seem to affect them. Thor explains Loki's personality and skill with sorcery, which he learned from their mom, and I can't help feel that perhaps Frigga could have been a little more cautious in developing such power in him. Evidently he can use his sorcery here effectively, and I shake my head again.

"This is going to suck," I say.

"You are convinced he will escape?" Thor asks, and my lips twist.

"Aren't you?" Before Thor can reply, one of the guards has a question for me regarding the strength of the alloys I can create, and once armed with the specifications, I excuse myself and head to the forge to play around.

Steve shows up with a late lunch for me and ideas for the attachment points for his shield when I have the time. I add these to my notes, and he looks bemused to see Sigurd's new companion. "What have you named him?" he asks after I explain.

"I looked up some Norse names," I said, finishing the pasty from the cafeteria. "I though I'd name him Torburn."

"That's cute," Steve said. "What does it mean?"

"Bear of Thor," I say, with an evil smirk. Steve laughs.

"Oh, he's going to love that." Torburn tumbled over in the grass.

I worked on the alloys all afternoon, thinking and trying to come up with something exceptionally strong. By the end of the day, I had a few ideas that I wanted to test out the next day. Accompanied by Sigurd and Torburn, we headed back to the housing block to wash up (me) and get some dinner.

"What are you calling him?" Thor said idly. I told him, and he shook his head firmly. "He is not mine and he is not a bear."

I smiled at him and called for the dogs; they were eating over by the windows. Sigurd looked a little worn; fatherhood must be hard work. Torburn yipped excitedly and ran over in a rolling, adorable gait. He kind of looked like a bear cub. "Aw, see? He loves his Uncle Thor," I said mockingly as Torburn tugged at Thor's cape, then yipped again and ran back to his dad. Thor looked up and I went back to my dinner with a smile.

The next day, I made small plates of three different alloys and gave them to Stark's team to test. That afternoon I got an inquiry about whether I would be able to make the metal components for Loki's cell myself or if they needed to do it at Avenger Tech. I thought about it and said I'd do it. I wanted to be sure it was done as perfectly as possible. I managed to make a test shield for Steve where we could play around with the modifications before I got a message back from the team, approving one of the alloys for production. I couldn't shake my sense of misgiving, but started to work out the quantities of materials I'd need and figure out how I'd craft the pieces.I headed back to the meeting.


	31. A cellblock built for a king

It takes a couple of weeks before I come up with the optimal alloy for the construction and the best cell is designed. There's also the problem of placement; we had the options of putting it under the cafeteria or under the housing block, and there were benefits and drawbacks to both locations. We ended up putting it in the basement of the cafeteria because nobody was entirely comfortable with the idea of Loki hanging out beneath us as we slept. The biggest benefit is that guards will have easy access to coffee and there is a small kitchen under construction where the guards will be able to have good meals on their breaks. One cook will be on duty when the main kitchen is closed, which is also nice for the rest of us. The laundry facilities are also in the cafeteria basement, so that's handy too.

I'm actually the only Avenger who will be living here full-time. The main Avengers training facility is still in upstate New York and that's where most of them stay. They come out on a regular basis to relax, mostly, or to talk about armor, so by default, I end up making a lot of the smaller decisions. The room we're going to use originally was designed for extra storage, so it's just a question of redefining that storage from food staples to a trickster god. There is one way in and out, which has its benefits and drawbacks, and two safety doors are installed to seal off the corridor at different points. They are meant to be easy to trigger and should be triggered at any irregularity. The only way to open them is up on the third floor of the housing block; we've devoted space to a separate guardpost with audio and visual surveillance of mostly the cell room, but also of the cafeteria, just in case. The guard can close and open the security doors and also flood the entire building with a knock-out gas. Also, just in the cell, is a gas that induces itching. It is literally so irritating that immediately all you can think about is scratching. I tried it on myself and was satisfied; then I had Thor try it to make sure that it would affect other physiologies similarly and was pleased with the results. It's non-fatal and can easily be countered with water; the idea is that if Loki starts acting up, he gets a shot of this in the air of his cell to occupy him until his nefarious scheme is halted. Then the sprinklers in the cell go on to rinse it away. If this deterrent gas is released, it simultaneously turns off the water taps in the bathroom so there's no release until we grant it. And to deter the guard from playing with it, any release of the gas is to be accompanied by 53 pages of actual paperwork that have to be read and filled out by the on-duty guard in question before he or she can go home. If Loki behaves himself, he doesn't ever have to know it's there.

The containment cell is freestanding and consists of my alloys shaped so that they support the glass-and-electricity panels that Tony devised. The alloy that tested best had a substantial amount of platinum in it; five pounds for every ton of finished metal and twelve pounds of vibranium per ton were the most expensive components. You should have seen Tony's face when I gave him the purchase order. T'Challa gave him a small price break, I think, due to the quantity of the order. I made the corner units, which support the glass and permit the glass to be electrified. The alloy is extremely strong and is attached to pylons that go deep into the earth; since Seattle is in the Ring of Fire, there's been a lot of earthquake-proofing going on, and in the event of an earthquake or a volcanic eruption, this cell in particular has to hold.

Over the structural elements, I worked with Asgardian metalsmiths. They made a skin out of the golden metal they use to not only make it prettier but to hide the structure so that Loki can't figure out how to defeat it. It looks really attractive, all in all, for a prison cell; they etched designs into the skin. The cell is accessed through a small panel that has a keypad. The code is eight randomly-generated numbers, and the guards of the watch don't have them. If they're needed, the guard on the third floor guardpost has a program to generate the numbers; he or she then uses their wireless communication gear to call it over to the cellblock. Of course, there's a record every time that program is used, and every time the door is opened. Accountability is crucial. The bathroom is kind of a delicate situation; we feel like we've balanced privacy for the prisoner with security by constructing a half-wall in front of the toilet and shower. When the guards are seated behind their console, from the waist down Loki will not be visible. If a guard needs to, though, there's no door on the cubicle, and at ninety degrees from the console, there's a clear view in. The guards are to stay behind the security console unless there's a clear need. There will be two guards on duty in the cell room, one outside the locked door, and one up in the third floor security office at all times. They will be relieved every four hours, on a staggered schedule, so the there aren't patterns in the guards that Loki can easily exploit. Everybody is being trained not to talk to Loki, but that's most likely going to be imperfectly observed over the long run.

There is a chair available for cleared visitors; Thor mentioned he'd drop by to talk to his brother periodically, and if those with clearance want to pop in, we've decided that's ok. It's a small list, just the Avengers and Odin, actually, and I don't expect Odin to actually ever show up. There is a metal bedframe that Avenger Tech made that is part of the floor with no small parts that can be broken off. There's a comfortable mattress, sheets, and blankets, also good quality. My thought was that if we make it uncomfortable, there's just another reason for Loki to try to get out. There's a table and chair for his meals, and a comfortable chair to sit in. All the furnishings are made of steel; if Loki damages them, a strong electromagnet in the floor will be turned on and everything will be held tight to the floor. Light and temperature are controlled externally, and the guards are to allow Loki to express his preferences and allow them as long as it's reasonable. He can request books, and there's a TV screen that he can see through his cell where he can watch a carefully-selected list of television--mostly sporting events--on request. He can make other requests, which we will consider, but it's a jail, not a spa. Laundry, books, and meals are provided through a slot in the glass wall; if ever somebody needs to enter the cell while Loki is in it, Loki'll be directed to extend his hands through the slot, facing forward, where he'll be manacled until the person finishes and is out of the cell again. The manacles are too big to fit through the slot. Additionally, his jail uniform has a lot of stainless steel strands finer than a hair included in the yarn; when we tried, it turned out to be very hard to get out of the uniform when the floor magnet was turned on. We had the Avengers run simulations based on Loki's known behavioral patterns and were able to devise controls for as many as possible, but nobody believes we've got everything covered.

Because the units that I had to make were too big for my workshop, I ended up working in the R&D block, which is close by my place. The block is like a square donut; four sides, empty middle that has a nice garden for people to take a break and enjoy. My workshop and forge were on one of the sides, spoiling the symmetry. The roofs have grasses planted in gardens to provide insulation and a point of interest. It also has the effect of foiling spy satellites; it's difficult to get information from the images. The R&D block also has massive emergency generators that are for its sole use. There is a small emergency room in there as well, so we can treat any injury on-site. You can also make appointments for regular care like wellness checks, so we're well covered. Because my workplace was an afterthought, I got to design it myself and include a lot of windows as well as a glass wall that enables large products to be taken out easily as well as letting in fresh air when it's nice out. It was a prioritized project, which means that I'm the only lab up and running; they're still framing inside the main block. Sometimes over the weekends, it's just me, the dogs, and the security guards on the campus.

Finally, we're as ready as we'll ever be, so Thor and Nick show up and we get zipped up to Asgard. Sigurd and Torburn came with, seeming to enjoy their brief visit to the homeworld. Heimdall escorts us to the throne room, and out of habit I sense the Bifrost bridge as we walk along it. Lookin' good. Heimdall mentions that he'd seen me wear the torq he'd given me on Odin's visit, which kinda creeped me out to think that there was an interstellar peeping tom around. Heimdall flushed and said he wasn't in the habit of spying on me or anything. Thor and Nick were trying not to laugh. Bastards, the pair of them.

The throne room was mostly empty; Odin up on his great golden throne under the soaring vaulted ceiling, a knot of the Royal Guard, Thor's best friends, and us. Thor and Heimdall knelt, but Nick and I just waited respectfully. Odin looked over at the guards, then sighed and got up, walking down to us. He greeted his son with a thump on the shoulder and Heimdall with a nod. He welcomed Nick and me to Asgard, and after greeting the dogs, who then frisk off to sniff around, there's a bit of chat, he offered me his arm, and we walked over to the guards. A guy who matched the description of Loki was at the center of the knot, in the heavy manacles we'd sent Thor up with earlier in the week. He smirked at his brother and father, who rolled his eyes, and looked at Nick and me with more interest. Nick stared at him as Loki grinned.

"I am pleased to see that you survived my little diversion with no ill effect," he said to Nick conversationally. Even Nick's eyepatch looked unimpressed and he didn't bother with a response, so Loki turned his attention to me and tried to flirt.

"Look, sunshine," I said amiably after a little of this. "You'd be gorgeous If you washed out about five pounds of product from your hair, but I don't really think I'm your type, so you can drop the pretense." He looked offended.

"How do you know you're not 'my type'?"

I shrugged. "I'm human and so beneath you, and I'm not interested in pummeling you or helping you to take over the world. I'm not even that fond of New York, so aside for some ire that the Met and the public library main branch were damaged during your attempted invasion, I'm not even really upset by that except that everybody's insurance rates went up at least a little. You're an interesting intellectual challenge." He looked taken aback and fell silent. "We'd better get a move on, then," I said to no one in particular, and Odin escorted us down to the observatory. He offered a roster of Royal Guards to rotate through once a month to supplement our group, and we agreed to this as well. There was a dormitory under construction for our security crew; they could sign up for apartments if they wanted or commute in, and right now most of them commuted. We could expand that facility as well. I had a big smile as I thought about telling Tony that we'd be housing Asgardians as well and we'd probably need another building. With special accommodations, given how big they were. They were also Odin's special guards, so probably deserved some bells and whistles too.

To my surprise, everybody but Heimdall beamed down. It must suck to be the only one who doesn't get to go anywhere different. The landing pad for the Bifrost beam is close to the housing complex, which means it's close to the cafeteria, and it was a nice stroll over there. In the basement, the guards held Loki while I showed our guests where Loki would be staying and gave a basic rundown of the security features. Thor hadn't been in the planning loop and Nick hadn't seen it himself, just the projection and blueprints, so everybody looked around. Odin had many questions, which we were able to answer, and was satisfied. "He is...what he is, but he is still my son," he said finally. "I appreciate not only that he will be secure here but that he will have a degree of comfort." He sighed and suddenly I felt the weight of millennia from him. "It would have pleased his mother." Thor looked away. Odin turned away, and his brisk movement caused his cape to swing out, thwacking me and making me stagger. I regained my footing, Odin apologized, and for a diversion, Nick called for the prisoner to be brought in. I realized that I was the only one who was willing to use his name.

The heavy steel door crumped closed behind the security contingent, and we stood back as our people took over, supervising the transfer of Loki from his guards to the cell. Our head of security managed it smoothly, and when he was updated on the addition of Asgardian guards to the roster, brightened up. Loki looked around his cell and seemed to have a measure of pleased surprise at his accommodations. There's a schedule taped to the outside of the wall as well as a list of security protocols he'll be expected to comply with so he can get used to them. I'd consulted with Thor, who had provided me some books from Asgard for Loki to pass the time with, so there's some entertainment available. Odin stepped up to the door and pressed a button that turned on the intercom, and bade farewell to his son. He paused, and I thought he was done, but he finally said, "If you behave yourself and show real remorse, you might in time be returned to Asgard." This was news to us all, and mine weren't the only eyebrows going up. I shouldn't have been surprised, perhaps; Odin was old and feeling the weight of his years from making this decision. It was natural enough that he'd want to hold to the idea that his son would develop a conscience.

We left, and once outside again, our guard captain took the leader of the Asgardian guards up to the security office on the third floor. The Bifrost opened; Heimdall first sent down the contingent of guards with their stuff for the first month's watch, and Thor and Odin along with the guards who had brought Loki went back to Asgard. A car was waiting for Nick, to take him to Sea-Tac and back to New York. I called Tony, enjoyed telling him about the changes to the guard roster fully as much as I thought I would, then decided to call it a day and the pups and I headed for our apartment.


	32. I get a working vacation

The summer was hotter than I thought it would be; I'd always thought the Pacific Northwest was cool and rainy. It was harder to get used to than the heat of the jungle since I was in and out of air conditioned buildings. Textiles were proving to be something I didn't really have a feel for, so those in the textile development and I kind of parted ways; the work I did for them was providing them with shears that cut tougher textiles, stronger pins, and special needles for the sewing machines. I liked learning new things, but I was getting more orders for new equipment that I needed to focus on.

The team went out on several missions in July and August; I improved the toughness of the casing of Natasha's bracelets and provided armor-piercing arrowheads for Hawkeye after some long-distance consults. Our team was leveling up, but so were the bad guys, and the team had to be reminded to retrieve any part of their ordnance or costumes that would have been left behind so that the bad guys couldn't research the tech. I was carefully building up Steve's new shield; he wasn't able to come out to test it and I didn't have to go full-bore on it like I had on his first shield. I was testing the layers of alloys and coatings, and spent quite a lot of time developing red and blue alloys that wouldn't scratch off like paint. The design would stay pristine unless the shield was actually destroyed. Steve consulted with the PR team and they were set to come up with a new logo, but in the end, the classic star and concentric circles design won out. I provided Sam with a better, stronger metal to attach the wings to his harness; that was the main point of stress in his gear, and metal fatigue was a serious concern. That summer I mostly put my head down and attended my work. Sigurd and Torburn were good company for each other, and I took occasional breaks for playtime. By the end of August, the R&D block was pretty much finished; they were extensively testing the hoods and the HVAC system since temperature is a concern with the more delicate instruments. Then the interior decorators went in. From my perspective, it was nice and quiet in this phrase.

Nick summoned me out to the New York facility just before Labor Day to provide some non-reactive vessels for special hazardous materials transport. While I was there, I'd meet the heads of the departments moving into the new facilities, which would be nice; it would be good to finally see the old labs. Aside from a trip to the dentist, I hadn't left the compound for months. I took advantage of the flight in a private plane to bring some gifts for the others as well-- blades of my latest and what might be my greatest alloy; a metal that kept its edge almost permanently and that actually managed to scratch my skin. I'd been so excited by that discovery that I'd tried again after the accident and when using significant force, managed a nice deep cut. It was good news/dumbass move, because I had to use medical-grade CA glue to get it to close. Also, ow. My nerves weren't as sensitive on the surface of my skin, but underneath they were apparently as keen as ever. I wanted to consult with the medical staff as well to see what medical tools I could make in case I needed treatment. I'd made full-tang knives for the others; they could get the hilts custom made of whatever material they chose. I had a small one for myself that I used frequently in my work; the metal was unreactive, nonmagnetic, fairly nonstick as well, and lightweight; I usually carried it in my pocket. Because I wasn't going to be working working, I wore a long cotton voile skirt and a sleeveless blouse; I had an overnight bag and my crossbody purse and my dogs; Sigurd and Torburn seemed excited to fly, even after I explained the differences between airplanes and the Bifrost. 

A steward greeted me when I boarded, having had to boost Torburn up the stairs a little. Sigurd and Torburn immediately investigated the cabin as I got settled, then returned to graciously settle into the crates that had been provided for their safety. Several seats had been removed to make room for them. We settled in for the flight once cruising altitude had been reached; I accidentally spilled the glass of water the steward got for me and requested a bottle of water instead. The steward kindly provided bowls of water for my furry friends as well. I opened my Kindle and settled in, noting when the pilot directed my attention out the windows, when we began to fly over the Rockies. I went back to my book, looking at the sleeping dogs before I did. I smiled; they looked so cute when they weren't chewing things. I wondered if R&D could make tougher, more interesting chew toys for them.

Just then we hit some turbulence, and the pilot requested that I put on my seatbelt. Before I did, I woke the dogs and urged them back into the crates. They seemed tired, but I got them safe inside. I admit I was white-knuckling it a bit; then there was kind of a bang sound and the plane shuddered violently before diving steeply. I shrieked and masks fell down from the bulkhead. I looked around but didn't see the steward; there wasn't a way to get the masks on the dogs, so I put my mask on after texting Nick that we seemed to be going down. I didn't know whether the text would send, and I lost the phone after another bad bump. I bent over in my seat and hugged my knees. I knew that that the pilot would do the best he could to make sure we walked away from the accident, then tried to clear my mind and not panic. All I could hear was the scream of the airplane as the descent continued, then the plane shuddered violently as things hit--trees?--then the aircraft started to tear itself apart.


	33. On the ground

I blinked my eyes groggily and sat up slowly. I must have been unconscious for awhile; I'd missed the excitement of the landing. And we had landed, although the damage to the airplane that I could see was catastrophic. I ached all over, but especially where I'd been thrown against the seatbelt. I unhooked it and rubbed my abdomen, then staggered across the aisle to check on the dogs. They were laying limply in their crates, but they were still alive. I could see them breathe. I didn't quite what know what to do, so I went for help. The door between the cabin and cockpit was crumpled and when I pushed it open enough to see in, the amount of blood that I could see meant to me that there was no help there. The concussion wasn't the only thing making my stomach sick. I returned to the dogs and opened the crates.

Sigurd was out like a light, but Torburn was stirring. I opened a compartment and found a few dark blue blankets, then looked around. Smoke was filling the cabin; in a movie, this would mean that an explosion was in the offing. I wasn't sure about real life, but there was a lot of jet fuel and apparently a fire somewhere, so I needed to get organized and get gone. A section over the wing was ripped off; we could get out that way but I probably wouldn't be able to get back in. I walked as quickly as I could to the galley and stuffed bottles of water and what packaged food there was into my bag. I looked around for the steward but didn't see him. Returning to the dogs, I pulled Sigurd out of the crate and onto a blanket and coaxed Torburn out as well. I shoved my overnight bag out and slid out onto the wing, pulling the blanket with the dogs after me so that when we hit the ground they landed on me. I pulled the blanket behind me and stumbled off; there was a dip in the ground that rolled away from the wreck, so we went down that. I hoped that it would provide some protection in case the plane blew up. I sat down and took stock of the situation. Torburn crawled into my lap and I cuddled him as I thought.

I realized that I didn't have my phone, and ruled out the hope that I could call for rescue. I didn't know if the pilot got off a mayday, but he probably did; it wasn't like there wasn't any time, and we had--we'd had--a copilot. Help should be on the way, but I was worried about Sigurd. I felt like a total ass, but I yelled "Heimdall!" a couple of times. From what I'd picked up, he sometimes scanned the nine realms for people he knew, and I hoped that maybe he'd pick up on the situation. It was stupid, but it was something to tick off on a list I was assembling. Under my right hand, Sigurd stirred, and I went limp with relief. I went back to my list feeling better, stroking his fur. If rescue was coming, I needed to stay by the plane. They'd search for wreckage and the black boxes. I figured that rescue would come in a day or two, and I looked in my handbag to see what I'd brought. Seven good-sized bottles of water and some bags of peanuts, granola, and cookies. Nothing for the dogs, though, but maybe we could hunt? I felt queasy at the thought. I'd never done it before, but it was for the dogs, and I'd find a way.If I was going to travel, maybe I should start carrying some food for them in my carry-on too. We had blankets, so we would have something to sleep on if it got cold. I could start a fire, which could provide psychological comfort, a beacon, and a deterrent for any predators. Also in my purse was my wallet--no help there--my Kindle, odds and ends. The knife I'd made myself. That was good, although I didn't remember putting it in there. I popped a piece of gum in my mouth and thought about my overnight bag. Personal care items, the dog's harnesses and leashes, nightgown, a dark green cardigan in case the air conditioning was too much, a slightly nicer outfit if I needed it for dinner, but not much that was useful.

I ran my hands over both dogs but didn't find any injuries, which was awesome. Sigurd struggled to sit up and blinked blearily at me. "There you are," the steward said from behind me. I bit down a yelp and turned. Torburn eased off my lap and growled.

"What the hell happened?" I asked. "There wasn't supposed to be any bad weather on the plane route to New York."

"No, the weather was fine," the steward assured me. "But my employers want to have a chat with you. This is the only good opportunity they've had." He scowled. "The plane wasn't supposed to go down, though. We were supposed to have a leak of the hydraulic fluid that moves the flaps on the wings, it was supposed to start when we got in the air and let us get into the target area before the warning light came on. They'd have put down in Butte and you would have been escorted off the plane."

"Were the pilots in on this too?" I gasped. He shook his head.

"No, it was decided that bribing them was suboptimal, and a private jet is much easier to sabotage than a quinjet. But somebody fucked up and we're lucky to be alive. Get up and leave the dogs. We've got a hike now."

"Where are we?" I asked, staying on the ground.

"Somewhere in the Frank Church Wilderness Area," he said, scowling ferociously. "Middle of Fucking Nowhere, Idaho. We've got to walk until I get a signal." He held up my phone and I felt a small flicker that things might be going our way. Nick had given me that phone and it could be tracked by satellite. It just looked like an ordinary iPhone.

"I'm not going anywhere without my dogs," I said flatly.

"That big one drank too much of the water. It'll take too long before it can walk on its own. We have to leave now. I don't know if Craig and Robert got off a distress call, but I can't count on it." I barely heard what he was saying. He'd drugged my dogs? He probably meant to have drugged me too, in the glass of water I'd accidentally spilled. I picked up my purse and got to my feet. In the man's hand was a pistol. Pointed at Sigurd, who was fighting the effect of whatever this shithead had given him.

"Here's the deal," I said coldly. "You leave the dogs alone and I'll come willingly." He grinned and pointed the thing at me. I started to rethink my position on gun control. But surely I was bulletproof? I'd never tested THAT.

"They might track us. No way. Enjoy the daylight; once I've delivered you, you won't be seeing it again." He swung back toward Sigurd and I had to act. I threw my purse at his arm, making his shot go wide. He snarled at me and shot me; I stumbled from the impact which was terrific, and lunged forward to grab his wrist. My work had made me pretty strong and I was able to wrench the gun away. Then I punched him in the nuts a few times, as hard as I could, and he buckled and fell to the ground in pain. I was going to kick him a few times, just to keep him down, but Torburn got there first. Sweet, fluffy, adorable Torburn made short work of tearing out the man's throat. 

"Torburn?" I spoke softly as he continued to savage the body, growling deep in his throat. Sigurd got to his feet shakily and nudged Torburn's butt with his nose. Torburn flashed around and started toward his dad, but realized there was no threat there and stopped. I gave him some time to calm down a bit, and when he stopped snarling, I cut a piece of fabric off the man's shirt and wiped down his fur. My little puffball's front was drenched in blood. I was probably going to have nightmares about that, but my respect for the dogs' capabilities got a huge boost. I took a moment and really looked at the bottles of water. They were still sealed, I couldn't find any holes in the plastic, and there was just H2O and some minerals in the water, so I used a little to wipe the worst of the gore off and he let me rinse his mouth. Then I gave Sigurd water to help him shake off the rest of the drug.

I squatted down and looked at them. "Ok, you guys know what I know. There is another group coming after us. The benefit is that I don't think we're anywhere near where we were expected, and Nick will get to work as soon as we're overdue." I looked at my watch. "Which we are. I didn't realize how much time a plane crash ate up. So they're on it." I found my phone and used the compass app. "We're handicapped because I don't know a damned thing about geography here. I don't know where the nearest town is, so if we stumble over a road or a town it will be from the sheerest luck. Normally, the best course of action is to stay with the wreckage of the plane, but with other people coming after us, I just don't know if that's the best idea here. So. Our options are to stay put and wait for rescue, try to hide out in the area so that we can come out when the good guys show up but not if the bad guys get here first, and to strike out and hope for the best. Bark for option one, two, or three." Sigurd voted for number two, and Torburn, who was apparently still upset, I think wanted to go looking for trouble. I clapped my hands. "Majority rules, then. We find a place to hide out around here and wait for either emergency services or the Avengers to show up." I look around. "Ok, Let's split up, go around the plane in half-circles. Sigurd, you take that way, Torburn and I will go this way. Look for any place you think the three of us can hang out safely and out of sight. We'll meet on the other side of the airplane."

Sigurd barked once and trotted off, apparently having shaken off the drug. I hoped he was ok. Maybe I should have insisted we stick together. I picked up the blankets and took my overnight bag too, out of a desire to leave no trace that we were here by the body. A last look around turned up no personal items, and Torburn and I set off too. Behind the wreck was a clump of trees that had been flattened by the crash and provided shelter; the branches also provided good cover. I parked Torburn under them and circled around carefully. I could hear him as moved around under the sheltering trees, but I couldn't see him. I nodded and asked Torburn if he could find his father faster than I could. He charged off and I made a few changes to make our concealment better. All the breaks in the wood were equally fresh, so the addition of more branches looked natural. There was one angle that provided a view of a slice of the plane; I moved some wreckage to make the angle better, and turned as I heard the crack of a branch.


	34. Up a tree

I turn, expecting to see Sigurd and Torburn, but instead I see three big guys holding three big guns. My hands shoot for the sky involuntarily. One of them strides forward and grabs my arm tightly. Without a word, I'm pulled along behind them as they swiftly move back, presumably to where they've left their vehicle. Where are the dogs? I hope they didn't meet these guys and that they're alive and well out there. I am probably not going to ever see them again. When I trip over a rock, I'm dragged along and cursed until I can get my feet back under me. It isn't long before we reach a clearing where a sleek black helicopter crouches. I look at it with a certain amount of interest; it's squattier than any other helicopter I've seen, looks a lot more advanced than anything the Avengers have, I'm sorry to say. One of the guards falls into a defensive posture, raising his gun and covering the area we came out of. The other two shove me toward the helicopter and one of them handcuffs me to my seat after fastening a seat harness over my torso. Shit. It's a matter of a couple minutes before we're all on board and the rotors start moving. It's not nearly as noisy as I anticipate. I'm not given a helmet or ear protection. My ribs ache from being shot and being dragged around by my arm. As we rise, Sigurd and Torburn burst into the clearing and I can see that they're barking. One man raises his weapon to shoot them and I kick his arm.

"Leave them alone, asshole!" I shout. He smiles nastily at me and takes aim again, but one of the other men tells him to focus on the job at hand and he immediately faces forward and turns on some equipment. I look around; all the men are focused on different jobs, so I think about how to get out of this mess. I see several places where I could cause electronic failure by plugging up the electrons, but not when I have both of my hands restrained. If we go down, I want to be able to get out fast. I focus my attention on the handcuffs, which are not standard police issue. (How do I know? Well, there might have been a public intoxication arrest in college while in New Orleans for Mardi Gras with some friends.) I diverted my thought from rum-based drinks to the handcuffs. They were weird, permanently attached to the seat's arms and buckled onto my wrists with straps for that really custom fit. I wasn't going to be able to be able to move those, molecule by molecule, anytime soon. I focused on the attachment to the seat arm; the strap was riveted to a connector that allowed for limited arm movement. Hah! I focused on weakening the pivot of the mechanism so that if I jerked my arms the connector would break. Then I would mess up the engine and bail out as soon as it seemed survivable. It had to be soon.

That was the plan. Just when I was satisfied with the handcuffs, the men started to chatter and a weapons system activated. The helicopter spun and spat two missiles at...a quinjet. Yay for Nick. I focused on the guidance system and the missiles targeted trees instead. The man on that system cursed long and loud, and I put my plan into action, blowing out a couple of sensors in the engine. The rotor for the main blades stalled. Whoops. As the helicopter began to tip, I pulled free and grabbed the weapon of the guy on the seat beside me, smashing the butt of the gun into his crotch hard--what? If you want to put somebody down, you have to hit them in a vulnerable area. He grabbed for the gun despite his wail of pain and he pressed the trigger, sending bullets everydamnwhere. One hit the pilot and the situation got a lot more intense as the helicopter rolled and started down. I smacked the man's nose with the side of my fist to pacify him some, wrenched away the gun, and curled up tight. I felt like a pro now at surviving air crashes.

I was awake for impact this time, though, which is not an experience I ever want again. After my ears quit ringing and I can make myself unclench, I take stock of my surroundings. The helicopter is on its side and there's a surprising amount of silence, broken only by pings from hot metal and dripping liquids. There's some smoke or vapor, and I decide to vacate. I unhook the harness keeping me in my seat and brace myself so I don't fall onto the broken glass and metal shards that used to be my side of the helicopter. I start to climb out of the helicopter. The asshole next to me is still alive but unconscious; I can't find it in me to give a shit. I make sure to step on him as I climb out and slither down to the blessed, solid earth.

Fuck any more of this kidnapping shit. I spot a nice tall tree a little ways off and climb it fast, stopping about midway up where the pine boughs are still thick enough to conceal me. The sun is going down, which will help hide me too, and I am staying put. I lean against the trunk and take stock. I think that bullet might have cracked some ribs; the bullet didn't go in, but the projectile force was unaffected and it hurt like a son of a gun. My head really hurt as well, and I realized that perhaps I should not push any more electrons until the concussion healed. I felt like I'd been beaten over almost every square inch of my body, and I wondered with a little alarm how I was going to get out of the tree once I started stiffening up. When I swallowed, my throat hurt too. I must have done some screaming on the way down. Dammit. I shifted and felt something in my skirt pocket; turned out to be my knife. Good that I wasn't completely defenseless. I clutched the tree, feeling nauseated as well now that the adrenaline rush was leaving, and rested my head a bit. Everything was nice and quiet.

The sun was almost down when movement caught my eye, and I focused with difficulty. Sigurd ghosted out of the trees and barked once. Torburn pranced excitedly beside him. I wanted to get down, but I was stuck. My vision was blurry and I was so stiff that I didn't think my arms could lower me down to the next branch, let alone get me down. And my ribs were flaming with pain when I breathed. The dogs came closer, tails wagging, Torburn's wagging his whole little body. He'd be adorable if not for the dried blood on his chest. I explained the situation to them and asked that they hide in case more bad people showed up, but they plopped down under my tree. I gave up and closed my eyes to help control the nausea.

It was dark when I opened my eyes again, but there was plenty of light from the almost-full moon. I squinted toward the wreck of the helicopter and saw somebody exiting, very slowly. Sigurd stood, very slowly, and I could see his hackles rise. I realized that I had to do something and told him to put him down but not kill him, and that I'd come down. Sigurd was off like a shot, knocking the man down on his belly and sitting on him, growling all the while. Meanwhile, I turned my attention to my own problem. And where were the damned Avengers, anyway? I tried to stretch carefully; I was still as stiff as a board, my whole midsection was providing a world of hurt, and my head still hurt, although not as much as before. So there was that. But now I also needed to pee, so there was another negative. I looked down and mapped my first few moves. There was a stub where a branch had broken off a long time ago, which would be very helpful. The more I could keep my weight on my feet, the better off my torso would be. It was going to be hard to move my arms. I gritted my teeth and managed to descend to the stub, then to the next branch without bursting into tears. Then the next branch. Under that one, though, there was more sizeable gap. After some manuevering, I did manage to get down there, but I almost fell off. I don't like to think of the immediate aftermath, but after I wiped my cheeks and I got a grip on myself again, I looked down to judge the remaining descent. Torburn yipped encouragingly, but it was still about twenty feet to the ground. How the hell had I gotten so far up? Adrenaline is crazy stuff. Just then I heard voices. Torburn turned to face the new threat, but then he relaxed, so I figured he knew who was coming.

FINALLY, they arrived.

"Emma?" Natasha called, and they all looked around. Cap went over to Sigurd and dealt with his prisoner. Hawkeye, Natasha, and Thor came over, and I croaked a greeting, but they apparently didn't hear. I rustled my branch, and they looked up.

"What are you doing up there?" Clint asked, baffled, and I rolled my eyes.

"You can come down now," Natasha said, and this time I managed to say "stuck" loudly enough. They studied me and Sigurd came back now that he was off-duty. They floated some ideas for getting me out of the tree, and finally Thor climbed the tree to help. I was a little concerned about the strength of the tree, but I hit the injury highlights and he nodded. He held my legs and lowered me to the next branch; when my feet found a place to stand, he went down a branch and this is how I finally got out of the tree. Steve and the prisoner had rejoined the group by then and shook his head.

"The quinjet is a good twenty minute walk from here, so we'll have to carry you. We'll take you back to Seattle; that's closest." Sigurd licked my hand reassuringly. 

Thor disagreed. "I can take her to Asgard. They can treat her more effectively there."

"That's a good idea," Clint said, nodding. "She's got that skin condition." It was quickly agreed to; the others would take the prisoner to Nick so he could sweat information out of him, and I found that I didn't care about what methods he'd use. The others backed away, I put my hand on Sigurd's head and Torburn sat adoringly on Thor's foot. Thor looked down, befuddled, as Heimdall answered Thor's bellow and opened the Bifrost.


	35. All fixed up

We resolved in the Observatory. I watched groggily as Heimdall strode toward us grimly. "Help is on the way," he told me, his rich voice soothing. I nodded and he gave me a glass of an opaque thick liquid. Thor looked at him in alarm. "Drink this," he said, and I obligingly took a drink.

Then looked at him in betrayal. Damn, that was nasty.

"I am aware of the flavor," he said austerely. "But drink it, regardless. It will help your throat." I took a couple of deep breaths, then chugged. What can I say? I went to college before binge drinking was a problem thing. It's surprising how certain skills come back to you. The beverage was even worse in large amounts, but at least it was over soon. I panted for breath, trying not to cough. If it had been a less classy joint, I would have spat to clear my mouth. After my eyes stopped running, I mopped them and thanked him. My throat did feel a lot better.

I recapped my adventures briefly, then asked that Sigurd and Torburn be looked over as I wasn't sure what they'd been given. "They seem ok, but still..." I looked at the dogs worriedly and Thor promised to have them seen to.

"Torburn?" Heimdall asked, and almost cracked up.

"Shut up," Thor muttered, and was spared further teasing by the arrival of a couple people with a wheelchair. This was nice and too big for me, but enabled me to sit back, sparing my ribs. It was a long walk along the Bifrost bridge. I remembered to take off the handcuff-straps from the helicopter.

In the medical suite, an authoritative woman asked what had happened; the summary was concise because I only described the physical effects of everything. She nodded, dismissed Thor and the pups, and sent me to the bathroom. Yay! Then I changed out of my stained and torn clothing and into a loose long gown. Not one of those bare-in-the-back hospital gowns that we have, but real, huge clothing. Then she helped me up onto a table and I lay down. She waved her hand, and a haze surrounded me; I dropped down my vision to see particles bombarding my body, then cycled back up to normal, deciding to take a break from my curiosity for once. Another wave, and the particle field went away.

"You have two broken ribs, separated rib cartilage, a cracked rib and sternum, severely bruised internal organs, a concussion, damaged lungs from breathing corrosive vapors, and bruises over most of your body. Which do not show." I gave her a short version of the chemical bath that precipitated this condition, and a faint line formed between her eyebrows.

"This will complicate your treatment," she said after a moment. She assisted me off the table and onto a chair. Another woman brought her a jar, a pretty thing of glass and metal. She twisted the lid off and told me to breathe the vapors. As I was sniffing--it was kind of medicinal but fresh smelling--she gathered together a group together, and from their occasional group looks toward me, she was discussing me with them. I was too tired to care about being a freak though. It was a little too cool in the room for comfort, so I twisted my feet in the over-long dress to warm them up and relaxed, holding the jar beneath my chin so that I got the treatment every time I breathed and closed my eyes.

I must have dozed off; I woke with a start to a light touch on my arm. She took the jar from me where it had been resting on my chest and listened to my lung function. "Your lungs are healing nicely," she said with approval. "There is not much that can be done for your broken bones, I regret to say; for some reason, all our attempts to accelerate bone healing have resulted in weaker bones. It is in your best interest to allow them to heal naturally." I nodded, unsurprised. "The concerns are your tissues. As they react to the trauma of your injuries, they will continue to swell awhile longer, but your skin seems to be limiting the swelling. This will become more uncomfortable for you. Additionally, you have a small laceration on your liver which is bleeding, and this needs to be addressed. Normally, a small incision is made, treatment is a matter of seconds, the liver healed, the blood removed. But with your skin..." She shook her head.

"Look, " I said, remembering. "In the pocket of the skirt I was wearing is a knife. It can cut my skin if you use enough force." One of the other women glided off at her look. When it was brought to her, she looked at it with a slight curl of her lip. I took offense. "That's good work," I snapped. "It's not beneath you to use it." After a cool look at me, she instructed the other woman to sterilize it.

"We think that we might be able to reverse your skin damage," she said a little abruptly, and I listened intently as she described a regime of oral medicine and a salve that would attract the medicine to the skin; exposure to ultra-violet light would be needed to stimulate the changes to the cells.

"I'm very interested," I assured her, "but at the same time, the ability of my skin not to burn has been an enormous asset." I flash to the mob in the jungle; I wouldn't have been able to finish the shield if I'd had to worry about being burned. "I think it might have saved my life once." She chewed on her lip as she considered this.

"It might be possible to retain that cellular change," she said finally. "Might."

"Anything you can do to preserve that," I said, and she nodded. I went back on the table, there was a new smell, bitter and stale and dank, then there was just dark.

When I woke up, I was on a bed in a dark room. A big lump next to me proved to be Sigurd, and the pressure on my ankles must be Torburn. I stayed still and took stock of my situation. Thanks to the dogs, I was nice and warm. My head felt fine, my lungs were fine, most of the pain in my midsection was gone. My ribs still hurt, but I was feeling remarkably chipper from somebody who'd walked away from two aircraft crashes in one day. I sat up carefully, which woke Sigurd, and there were tummy rubs to be administered as he made funny little sounds of contentment. Then Torburn came up and had to be have major ear skritches. I felt relieved; if they were back with me, they must be ok. While I was still fussing over Torburg, Sigurd sat up and barked; a moment, then the illumination came up. I squawked in dismay when I saw my purple skin.

A different health care professional walked in and examined me. The news was good; they'd healed my brain, my internal organs, including my liver; even with the new blade, it had been difficult to slice the skin but they'd managed. The rib cartilage had been set to rights but the ribs and sternum were still broken. Although my concussion was treated, I was warned against reading too much or concentrating too long for a few days; apparently Asgardian physiology was different in the brain too, and she wasn't sure how my brain would be after being whapped around like it had been. The skin treatment they'd tried later had effectively removed the impervious nature of my skin; they'd managed to retain my inflammability on my arms and the front of my torso, but the rest of my skin was back to normal. "The discoloration of your skin will fade in time," she said encouragingly. So the purple was just bruising, not a new way to be a freak. Good to know, but if the rest of me was like my arms, I was going to look like an eggplant for awhile. I was thrilled that the artificial toughness was gone--my skin was more sensitive than it had been for years, so I could tell without testing that the change had been made--but I was a little disappointed I didn't still have my entire fireproofing. It was such a great safety measure for a blacksmith.

I was allowed to get up and have a shower; when I was done, I had a new shapeless gown to wear; this one had been hastily cut down and I no longer looked like I was wearing a mutant Snuggie. I took a minute to test my vision; nobody'd said anything about that and I didn't want to bring that up if I didn't have to. I was able to quickly cycle through my increased spectrum and sighed with relief. My tough skin was nice, but my bread and butter was that enhanced sight. The healer had me stand still when I came out and carefully put a short corset type thing on me, providing support for the ribs but not squishing them. I couldn't bend at the waist, but on the other hand it helped to control the pain from the broken bones. I followed her back to the room that I remembered where Thor was waiting with his dad and Heimdall. I felt like a little girl around all the big people and in the dress that was still too long. They all flinched when they saw me. I didn't blame them; the bruises freaked me out too.

There was some polite chit-chat; apparently I'd been held in stasis for two days after the surgery for the skin treatment, then I'd slept another day. Odin gestured forward a man whom he introduced as the guy responsible for their magnificent dogs, who were apparently the results of a millennia or so of research, careful selective breeding from canines all over the Nine Realms, and a nudge of genetic manipulation. Wolves were pretty popular in Norse mythology, but not so much dogs, and Baldur envied other races their dogs so he...made himself some. They weren't just smart dogs, they had intelligence at least equal to ours, with a range of personalities and senses of humor. True companions. A big dog walked into the room and looked around. I thought Sigurd was huge, but this one had about forty pounds on him. Torburn gave a happy little bark and rushed over, his tail wagging. "That is his mother, Gretl," Baldur said as we watched the reunion. Gretl gave her son a thorough inspection and it seemed like they had a conversation. They both came over and she gave me a thorough inspection too; I quailed a bit, thinking of the trouble I'd gotten her kid into, but she finished, gave a short bark to Baldur, and left. Baldur assured me that she thought I was acceptable, and I felt pretty good about that.

It appeared I was finished with; we left the medical suite. Baldur peeled off with a farewell and Sigurd, Torburn, Thor, Heimdall and Odin walked with me to the Observatory. Odin asked about Loki, but I wasn't able to tell him much; I hadn't gone down to visit. Since I felt a sense of obligation for the excellent medical care, I said that I would visit, and Odin seemed pleased. In the Observatory, Odin gestured to a guard, who handed Thor an enormous pile of books for Loki. I smiled; it looked like I wasn't the only one being pressured to say hi. I thanked Odin and Heimdall for their assistance; they brushed it off in that Asgardian way, and Heimdall got the Bifrost spinning up.

When we were put down, I'd expected to be returned home to Seattle, but instead I was in a parking lot next to a strange building. Hot! Hot parking lot! I had no shoes and no fireproofing, so I bolted for the first entrance I saw. The pups were right with me; their paws weren't used to the heat either. Thor caught up to us easily and opened the door. "Fury wants to debrief you," he said, leading us into the Avengers facility in New York.


	36. Fallout

The industrial carpet is harsh underfoot as I follow Thor down the hall to a set of stairs. Up two flights, then Thor opens the door to a conference room. Nick is waiting with Steve and Tony. Good thing I had a nice nap. Nick hands me my phone and purse, telling me that my overnight bag hadn't been recovered. And just when I would have loved a change of clothes.

Tony smirks at me. "Nice outfit, Oompaloompa," he says crisply.

I roll my eyes, but I'm pretty relaxed and not really wanting to get caught in escalating snark. "I wasn't there for fashion week," I point out. "And it beats the hell out of one of those backless hospital gowns you get on Earth."

Steve laughs. "Do you remember that time when you were being treated? They gave you too many painkillers and you flashed the entire--"

Stark flushes red and opens his mouth to retort, but Nick inquires about how I'm feeling. "Pretty good," I say. "Ribs are still broken, but they'll heal fine in time. On the one hand, my skin is no longer impervious; on the flip side, my fireproof...ness is now limited to my front torso, arms, and hands."

Nick thinks this over and nods. "That's good to know. Makes treatment easier in the hopefully unlikely event you need it in the future. Why don't you tell me what happened, from your perspective." So, thanks to my memory which is still supercharged, I can repeat what the steward said word for word. Nick, Steve, and Tony exchange glances.

"We think one of the pilots was in on it too," Tony says abruptly. "One of the crew said you were over the Rockies, right? Well, the area you actually crashed in is west of the Rockies. It's two million plus acres of undeveloped land. If you'd decided to walk for help, you'd probably have been lost out there. I don't really know what the purpose of misidentifying the position of the plane would be other than to deceive somebody else about where you were. It makes me think that either there were two agents on board who didn't know about each other, possibly because neither one was trusted much, or there were two groups interested in acquiring you, because the first we knew anything was wrong was when the plane didn't show up on time."

"Either way, it's unacceptable," Steve said.

"From now on, you don't get to fly unless it's with one of the Avengers in a quinjet," Nick said sternly. "Or by Bifrost travel." Thor nods.

"So I guess the next step is you telling me I have to stay on campus," I said glumly. Before all this, I'd been planning a trip to Great Britain for next spring. I hadn't seen that country yet, or France. I'd wanted to take the Flying Scotsman and explore the north, then swing through Ireland too. I'd also been looking into traveling the full route of the Orient Express, ending in Istanbul. I'd finally pulled my head out of my lab to explore the world around me, only to have it severely limited again, this time not by my desire. For the first time, I wondered if my abilities were worth the isolation.

"For the time being," Nick said baldly. "We're going to have a dentist and other specialists join the medical facility in Seattle. And you can take some trips into the city if you've got a couple of the team with you." I slumped abruptly, then sat up with a wince and a hand to my side.

"So I'm pretty much stuck," I clarified. "Nobody comes out west for more than a couple hours, and only individually."

They exchanged glances. "We'll work on that," Nick promised. I held my tongue, then some of the lab rats popped up and I was off to tour the facilities. They, like most labs, don't have footwear for visitors, so I put on some shoe covers. The labs were in good shape, but obviously too small for the all the work going on. They were really excited for the move west, and I could tell them a lot about the huge new state-of-the-art complex, showing some video I'd taken on my phone before I left. Just before I was due to be returned to Nick, I asked if there was any chance of a shower. After some consultation, I was shown to the medical facilities, where in exchange for a quick exam and update of my medical file, I was given a set of scrubs, a pair of socks (they didn't have spare shoes either) and shown to the showers. One of the doctors provided me with soap, shampoo, and conditioner. Heaven. Absolute heaven. And some of my bruises were turning colors, so while I might be multicolored for awhile, I was healing. I was glad to escape the oversized gown, but kept the corset-y thing since it really helped. It went on under the scrubs, though.

Back in the conference room, Nick was waiting with Scott and Peter, who were going to escort me to Seattle. They were in their suits, but I thought that was overkill. We were going in an armed quinjet, after all, but Nick didn't care. Sigurd and Torburn were waiting for me, and the five of us said goodbye to Nick and we walked to where Hawkeye was waiting in a quinjet. The flight was shorter than by jet and I helped Peter with some homework, answered questions Clint had about the helicopter I'd crashed, and managed to entertain Scott with a tale of the whole mess. The books Odin had given Thor for Loki were in the quinjet as well. I took advantage of my escort and had Peter and Scott take the books down to Loki's cell. I didn't ask Clint, mostly because he still held a well-deserved grudge about Loki's mind control.

I sympathized; while Loki no longer had the Glowstick of Destiny, he was behind really good containment so Clint wouldn't be able to smack him a few times. Ultimately, the guys just dropped off the books with the guard outside, and the three Avengers flew back to New York. I trudged over to the cafeteria, famished. It was early and we were the only customers, so the waiters got to indulge their fondness for the dogs with petting and cooing, and they dined on stake tartare. I had the salmon.

We went back to the suite, and I flicked on the TV while the dogs took naps, tummies full. My thrill over being rescued, healed, and reversion to mostly-normal skin had faded with the news of my protection. It wasn't Nick's fault that the bad guys were after me, but I still felt like a prisoner now that I knew my options were severely curtailed. I hadn't been this depressed since Messi had quit international play.

There was no point going to my workshop to distract myself; what with the ribs, I couldn't do any physical metalsmithing, and I couldn't push electrons for another 30-odd hours, as warned on Asgard and confirmed by the doctors in New York. Finally, I changed into some normal clothes and went back over to the cafeteria. And down the stairs.


	37. In which I get to know Loki a bit better

I went down the stairs slowly, to avoid jostling my ribs, and stopped at the guard kiosk outside the door to the cell room. The books that Odin had sent along were here, and the guards had thoroughly examined them. I approved; while it was to Odin's benefit that Loki was locked up, you just never know if there's a deeper game going on here. What with the lifespan of Asgardians, anything is possible. The books had been x-rayed and physically examined, and the conclusion was that there was nothing there but ink on beautifully bound vellum, the leather bindings tooled and gilded and jeweled. As to the contents of those pages...well, who can say? Nobody at the facility read what looked like Old Norse, and the age of the books was such that there couldn't be any more recent information added. The guard wanded me; I left my belt with the metal buckle at the security station along with the electronic fob that worked on most of the rest of the doors in the complex. I knew that the Avengers had the right of free access to this room at any time, but truthfully, I didn't really feel like an Avenger. I was support staff. Everybody'd heard about one of Steve and Tony's legendary head-butting incidents in which Tony reportedly told Steve that all that was special about him came out of a bottle. Well, that patently wasn't true; Steve's personal qualities were what gained him the right to volunteer for the Super Soldier serum and inspired trust and loyalty all over the world, not just among Avengers or Americans. That was Tony's insecurities and sharp tongue talking, but he'd be right about me. All that was special about me came from a lab accident that enabled me to be moderately useful. And while it was awesome to be able to see atoms and particles and heat, because of it, what it got me was a lot of money and nowhere to spend it. Was this a midlife crisis? I wondered as I listened for the release of the locks on the door.

Inside, Loki looked up where he was sitting, gazing at the wall. "We meet again," he said lazily. It was funny how Asgardian accents sounded all upper-crusty British. It was like even aliens bought into American movie perceptions that really smart people and the best villians all sported that accent. And look, here was somebody who was both.

"Hello," I responded. "I have some books for you if you'd like them." His gaze sharpened in interest and he got up, moving over to the narrow slot where meals and things like books could be slipped through without compromising the containment cell. I passed them to him one at a time. He smoothed their covers and flipped through a few.

"When did you see Odin?" he asked.

"Few days ago," I said. "He asked me to visit you and give you these books."

He dropped the priceless volumes on the floor with a thud. I winced at the disregard for the craftsmanship. "Dude," I said in protest, and he smiled.

"And how is my dear brother?" he inquired silkily, and I began to wish I hadn't come. Family drama is the worst kind.

"Fine," I said, shrugging. "Typically...Thor-like." He chuckled. He had an excellent voice, full of seduction and promises.

"Thor-like. Very appropriate," he approved. "He's a decent enough fellow, but as I've heard your kind say, as deep as a puddle."

"There are worse things," I noted.

"Oh?"

"To have a razor-sharp mind and be locked away from events you could use it on."

"A palpable hit," he said, regarding me with interest. "And do you have one? A razor-sharp mind?"

"Hardly," I snorted. "That role is filled by Tony Stark. I'm just a blacksmith." As we spoke, I noticed a slight flaw in the inner workings of one of the support brackets and moved a few molecules to correct it.

Loki noticed my interest. "Typical Asgardian design," he said. "That's one of the problems with Asgard. There's no innovation."

"They do nice work," I said. "You'd be hard-pressed to find this level of ornamentation on Earth in new construction these days."

"Oh?" he invited me to continue.

I ran my hand lightly down the golden sheathing. "Current tastes are for clean lines and no ornamentation. It's called minimalism, and it's pretty well accepted. It works for most architecture because there's generally not a lot of space in new builds. To use this kind of ornamentation effectively, you need very high ceilings, very large rooms. Otherwise it's just crowded and difficult to appreciate. And these qualities are very expensive. The materials are expensive, and it would be hideously expensive to hire the master craftsman to do the work. You see exquisite craftsmanship and a lot of detail in castles and palaces and old public buildings. Budgets don't run for the extensive hire of masters anymore; the beauty of natural stone is used as a substitute, for example. So you're lucky that the artisans of Asgard worked on your prison, even if you don't care to acknowledge it. Beats the crap out of what we'd have provided for you if we'd been responsible. There's a style of architecture called Brutalism that was being bandied about for this. I doubt you'd like it. There's even less to admire."

Loki acknowledged this, then turned his quicksilver mind. "While I'm not unappreciative of the loan of the books, couldn't you bring me something different?"

"Like what?" I asked carefully.

"What about some of your Earth books?"

"I don't think it's wise to educate you more about this world," I said dryly. "You tried to conquer the planet knowing nothing about it. I shudder to think what you could do with actual knowledge."

He spread his hands, all innocence. "What could I possibly do from in here?"

"It's what you'd do outside it that worries me. And no, I don't think you'll be in there forever. I voted against having you here."

"And why was that?"

"Because I believe you'll escape and there will be more bad things happening because of it. I could do without that."

"Then why am I here?"

"I was outvoted." I snort. "You can't honestly believe that I'm in charge here."

"It looks like it to me," he said, cocking his head, studying me. "You're the first visitor I've been allowed. You know of my incarceration here, you go back and forth to Asgard, you have a relationship with the ruling elite of Asgard. I've heard guards refer to 'her' and 'she' which must be you. So it seems that you are in charge here."

"Not really, so you don't have to waste your time sucking up. There are enough security protocols in place that no one has any appreciable level of autonomy."

"And why am I here?" he said, abruptly challenging me.

"Because Odin came down and asked us to keep you. The Avengers are funding this project, but they're not terribly hands-on, which you might be glad for. Clint would still like to pummel you senseless."

"And did you tell Odin the reasons why you would have liked to decline his request?"

"I did. And the rest of the voting group. Odin didn't like my reasons, and the others liked the idea of doing a god-king a favor."

"You don't like Odin much, do you?" Loki said suddenly.

"He's fine, he's been very nice to me personally. It's more that I don't trust him. I expect that he has plenty of reasons for wanting you here that he didn't articulate in his proposal." Loki studied me with growing interest. Crap.

"You see the Allfather plainer than most," he said thoughtfully.

"Care to share some insights?"

He laughed, a musical peal of delight. It seemed unfair that someone whose special gift is chaos and discord would have such a wonderful voice. "Not especially. Besides, you seem perceptive enough."

I smiled sourly and stood. "Aside from books, do you need anything?"

"Aside from freedom?"

"That's right."

"No, my needs are cared for well enough." He paused. "Will you be coming back?"

I studied him. "Odin requested that I visit you. He also leaned on Thor, but I don't know if he'll come."

"I propose a trade." I eyed him warily. "For each visit, I promise that I will not actively attempt to escape." And right there I saw that coming down here had opened up a situation. Loki hadn't tried anything, but now that there was somebody to engage with, I had no doubt that he'd be plotting and planning. Still...

"How long are we talking about?"

"A day." I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

"I have my own job. I don't have time to come every day just to give you the opportunity to pick my brain, even in exchange for your promise not to escape."

He was silent a moment, considering his options. "A week."

"A month."

"Two weeks."

"Ok."

"And will you bring books?"

Give him an inch..."I'll have to see. Perhaps, if you don't cause the guards any trouble. What's wrong with those ones?"

"I've read them." His lips twisted. "They were Frigga's."

"Then I'm surprised you aren't treating them with more respect." I folded my arms. "Everything I've heard was that she loved you very much. Perhaps too much." I considered him. "Well, that's not my problem either." He considered me too, then nodded after long moments.

"Then you can plan on bringing me books. Do I get to choose the topic?"

I smiled. "Nope. It'll be a surprise."

"That will be a novelty."

"Later," I said, and walked to the door. The locks buzzed and I pulled the door open. I didn't look back.


	38. Books, books, as far as the eye can see

The next few days I spend, since I can't do anything useful, walking around the campus. It's really pretty, actually. The pups walk with me, and on the second day we find the site where the visitors center is slated to be built. They're already grading the ground for the building, parking lot, and parking garage. I turn back on the bluff above and throw a couple of tennis balls for the dogs. One thing about them, they may be super intelligent and all, but they drool just like regular dogs. I take a soggy ball back from Torburn and throw it again. He races off like his life depended on it. I smile and wipe my hand on my jeans. When he returns, I pet him and notice that he needs a new collar. Although he won't be fully-grown for almost three more years, he's grown appreciably since he got here.

The next day I go back to work, and it's comforting and comfortable to be back in my workshop. The mail is delivered; I get a package from textiles with the straps for Steve's new shield, supplies for the workshop, including a squeegie and cleaner for the windows, and a pile of mail. I snort when I sort through it; it's a bunch of tourist information for the UK and a detailed brochure for the Orient Express that I'd sent for back when I thought I could still take vacations. I chuck into recycling without looking at it. Today I'm laying down sheets of what I'm calling a superpolymer on the shield. These polymers are hard, durable, and inflexible, and I've just gotten them to accept molecules of pigment so that I can use them for the design. It's translucent, like stained glass, but exponentially stronger. They require careful attention and proper heating after each application, so I've got to focus as I apply each layer. I concentrate hard, taking bathroom breaks and eating when the shield's in the kiln; it's early in the morning before it's done and cooling for the final time. I stroll back to my apartment, looking at the stars and thinking about nothing important, Sigurd ambling beside me.

I'm feeling pretty triumphant, and it will take me some time to settle down enough to sleep, so I fire off an email to Cap telling him that his shield is ready--it is, I just have to attach the new straps tomorrow, or later today, I guess. Then I see an email from Amazon with the latest book deals and remember Loki's request. I select a few books for him off the fiction best-seller list, then pause as I'm about to order. I browse the fiction offerings, adding selections here and there. I'm grinning by the time I hit the purchase button. Stifling a yawn in favor of a chortle, I shut down the computer and get ready for bed. Sigurd and Torburn wake up and follow me, ready to get down to serious sleeping.

I don't set my alarm the next morning, and when I wake up, we go to the caf for a leisurely brunch before going out to the workshop. I have to hand sew the straps to the shield; the straps are leather on the side facing out for show, and this badass new webbing they developed attached to the underside. It's too thick for the sewing machine. I assemble a small rubber block, a hammer, and pliers, placing the rubber on the shield under the strap and driving the needle through the layers with the hammer, then flipping it over, removing the rubber from the point of the needle, and pulling it through with the pliers. Even for me it takes a good chunk of time, but by mid-afternoon, I'm finally able to cut the thread on the second strap.

I look at the shield critically, like I've done every time I've handled it, and nothing has changed. I'm spinning my vision back up to normal when there's a knock on the glass door, and I look up to see Cap and Thor. Sigurd woofs a greeting and goes to open the door by pulling on a strip of fabric that sends the door down the track as he retreats. They pause to give him and Torburn a pat on the head, then I present the shield.

"Wow. That's beautiful," Cap says, tilting the shield so he can watch the light move over the surface.

"Will it hold up?" Thor asks doubtfully. Ye of little faith.

"it should," I say calmly, thinking of all the tests I'd done, from dropping heavy weights to try to bend or crack samples, then sending the samples back east for them to try to destroy. They'd even gotten Bruce's alter ego to have a go. They'd returned the sample that was just as pristine as it was when I'd sent it. "Why don't you try it? Smack it a few times with Mjolnir." Cap looked resigned and Thor brightened. We all went outside, where I sat down on the steps with the dogs to watch the show. Cap put the shield up and braced himself as Thor used his might to bring down Mjolnir.

Thunk.

Thor stepped back, looking puzzled. Cap dropped the shield to his side, looked at it with puzzlement, then braced himself again. Thor smacked it again.

Thunk. Not the ringing "WHANG!" they were expecting.

"What is this?" Thor said, looking bewildered.

I chuckled, gloating to myself. "Vibranium is supposed to dampen vibration, which it does to a certain degree. It turns out that it's much more effective when it's complexed with a bunch of other stuff." I'd already sent the sample to T'Challa.

"It sounds like when you hit a corkboard with a wrench," Cap said.

"There's a visual," I said cheerfully. "Sound is a kind of vibration."

Cap shot me a look then turned away to throw it like an oversized Frisbee. The dogs thought this looked like a lot of fun and charged off to get in the game. I watched all four of them horse around but was distracted by the daily mail delivery. I had some catalogs, some interoffice mail, envelopes, a box of hopefully durable, non-toxic dog toys from the materials lab and Torburg's new collar, and a huge box from Amazon. I tossed the paper in on the workbench, set aside the dog toys, and ripped into the box. Awesome.

A shadow fell over me as I pawed through the bounty. "You were laughing. A little maniacally," Steve said anxiously.

"What is the purpose of these?" Thor said, his lip curling a little as he held a book with a half-dressed Regency lady on the cover by the corner.

"Loki asked for books," I said mirthfully. Thor looked taken aback, then let out a roar of laughter.

Steve looked at the pile of books and grinned. "Not nice," he said.

I shrugged. "He didn't specify. You should always specify."

"Would that have stopped you?" he asked playfully.

"Probably not," I admitted. I threw everything into the box. "I need to get these down to the guards so they can inspect them. It'll take awhile."

"I will help you carry them," Thor announced. "Then we will dine, and after that, you can give them to Loki." We all laughed, and it was as he said, although Steve helped carry the books.

I hummed softly as I pushed the books through the slot to Loki, who looked puzzled by the bounty.

"What ARE these?" he asked disdainfully, holding another bodice ripper up to the glass.

"You asked for Earth books," I reminded him angelically. "So here are some. Romance is a very lucrative section of the market," I lectured him. "There's also the first Harry Potter book, the first Magnus Chase, A Game of Thrones, Memory, Princess Diaries, volume one, The Monstrumologist, Fallen Crest, Life Reader, A Clockwork Orange, Adventures of Huck Finn, Dune, Carrie, Fahrenheit 451, War and Peace, Fellowship of the Ring, Hunger Games, Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, the Eyre Affair, Princess Bride, To Kill a Mockingbird, Three Musketeers, Count of Monte Cristo, Man in the Iron Mask, Gulliver's Travels, Ulysses, The Iliad, the Inferno.

And, as punishment for invading, Twilight. There was the new Nora Roberts, a selection of romance books, more classics, including a collected Works of Shakespeare and the Sherlock Holmes books. Some Danger Involved. Some graphic novels: Sandman, The Walking Dead, some Batman comics. Bloom County. A selection of cozy mysteries. Lovecraft, Bradbury, Asimov. The Bone Collector. A Jack Reacher novel. I had the rare experience of seeing Loki disconcerted. I passed the last ones--Eye of the Red Tsar, Rhetoric of Death, Wearing the Cape, Curse of Chalion, Good Omens, and Grendel Affair--through the slot, and stood back. Loki looked a little dazed.

"This ought to give you something to do," I said encouragingly. I couldn't help myself. I cackled a bit. I stepped back with Steve and we watched as Thor and Loki had a few words. Loki was off his game and their conversation was almost civil.

I walked with them to the quinjet. Thor couldn't stop laughing at seeing his brother caught completely off guard. "Thanks for this," Cap said, holding his shield up a little. "This is amazing."

"You're welcome," I said. "Let me know how it works for you." I looked in the jet but didn't see the pilot.

"I just got certified," Steve said proudly. "Barton taught me." I smiled and stood well back and watched as Steve took off, wobbling only slightly, before racing away. I stopped by the workshop to collect the dog toys, and the pups and I enjoyed some product testing until it got dark.


	39. Cultural Studies

The next couple of days I finished up a few small projects and because I don't have any new requests for work, gave my workshop a good cleaning. I had finally asked housekeeping not to bother with my area; it wasn't that their work wasn't good enough, I explained to the supervisor, it was too good. They tidied and made things spic and span, and it made me nuts. I hated trying to find stuff when it was put away. It disrupted my creative process. I like a little mess; it feels cozy. The supervisor smiled and there was no problem, although I had the feeling that my request was kind of a joke among the staff.

After that, I started having some trouble with the gas line; it turned out that the new construction was having difficulty for some reason running the gas and vacuum to the lab benches. The manager was harassed; nobody could find the source of the problem and now it was escalating. Until it was found and corrected, the problem would prevent R&D from moving in, and I was a little depressed. The only other people I saw for the most part were the security personnel, the maintenance teams, and Sigurd and Torburn. Of those, the only ones who really communicated with me socially were the dogs. When I encountered the others, they were either working themselves or they had closed groups in the caf. They weren't rude or anything, we were just all in different spheres, with very little overlap, like a Venn diagram with tiny intersections. I missed my people. Hardcore scientists; we spoke the same language and were a singular tribe, even the biologists. There's never any dearth of conversations when you get a bunch of geeks together, and in this particular job, there was a lot of cross pollination in different labs, so the labs weren't clique-ish as they might be.

The only other person who was as lonely as I was appeared to be Loki. I started visiting every few days, always with the dogs. I felt that Sigurd had a good grasp of the shenanigans Loki was capable of, and relied on his reactions. Which meant nothing so far; Sigurd napped a lot during the conversations. In a very dignified way. I had the feeling that Torburn was learning a lot about slippery characters from this; he watched and listened as we talked.

Conversation with Loki was work. He was crafty and sly, tremendously intelligent, and I felt, quite resourceful, which made me feel like I was at a tremendous disadvantage, not being overly gifted in any of these departments. I always felt like I was handling a live wire, never knowing what the outcome would be. Yeah, I was paranoid, but the paranoia also kept me alert. He exerted himself to charm me, which worked to a point; it was pleasant, but my paranoia and experience kept me from taking him seriously. It was my perception that he was just trying to alleiviate his boredom anyway. I couldn't help feeling like Clarice Starling perched outside Hannibal Lecter's cell, although I wasn't trying to get information from him and I didn't think that he'd go on a killing spree if he got out. I could be wrong on that last count, though.

The next morning I went down after breakfast. I was more familiar with the guards, but none of us ever suggested bypassing the security protocols. In fact, that day they were installing a full-body scanner, like the kind you find in airports, to take the place of wanding and pat-down. It would be faster and more thorough, so it was considered a win all around. I hung around for a bit, then they tested it out on me.

Inside, I found Loki squished in the corner created by the wall and headboard. His eyes were wide open, bloodshot, and he was chewing his cuticles. "Is something wrong?" I asked, concerned, taking my seat. He darted a look at me.

"This book," he said, holding it up and waving it at me. "This is awful. What kind of place is this, where children are treated so?" The book that agitated him was Carrie. "Also, what is a 'prom'?"

"It's just a story,"I said calmly; he seemed really freaked out. "It didn't actually happen." Sigurd watched him like a bug on a pin.

It turned out that I had some explaining to do. Asgard didn't have casual fiction the way Earth did; they seemed to have their histories, which roughly corresponded here with Norse mythology, and oral storytelling and songs and things that you might find through the Middle Ages, but not fiction as we on Earth enjoyed. I had to go over the history of publishing--had to Google a lot once I got past Gutenberg--so he could understand this aspect of culture. Asgardians didn't read a lot. I mean they could, they weren't illiterate, they just didn't.

"And now is, I feel, a golden age of publishing," I told him. He looked overwhelmed. "It used to be that publishing houses controlled the vast majority of what was printed. But with the internet, what used to be called vanity presses where you could pay for someone to print your work have given way to independent publishing. You can sign up on sites like Amazon or Barnes and Noble, submit your work, and pretty much boom! You're a published author. It means that there are a lot of new and exciting works to read. Sure, there's also an increase in the dreck, but there are so many more books available because the publishers could only put out so many books a year. Indie is where it's at these days. And books can get so dated. For every timeless classic--which you can think of as something that continues to resonate with a lot of readers over a long period of time--you have tons of books that are forgotten or just don't hold up very well. Dracula by Bram Stoker, is, in my opinion, one of those in the last category, although plenty of people think it's a classic." Loki looks at the stacks of books and I shake my head. "I didn't get it for you. It's a book about a monster, basically, scandalous when it was written, but pretty tame now. The reason it continues to be popular is because it spawned the cultural sensation of the vampire, which is the type of monster, rather than its literary merit. It's a similar phenomenon now in other cultural arenas too. Movies, for example. They started out as silent motion pictures, then came sound; we progressed from black and white to color, the special effects are amazingly awesome. We do seem to like the latest and greatest innovations," I shrug. 

"Movies are often adapted from printed works." I smile. "There a book called The Phantom of the Opera. It's still unsettling in some parts, I find. So initially, there's the publication of the book, and it's so popular that it's made into a silent film with one of Hollywood's greatest early actors, Lon Chaney. And that's still a little freaky too. From there, it's remade several times, with different twists." I laugh, remembering the awful version with KISS. "It's even been made into a musical on Broadway, and an adaptation of the musical filmed. There's a lot of themes in the original work that continue to interest; there's obsession, romance, horror, mystery....we do love drama. And melodrama."

Then I have to explain about Hollywood and Broadway. Again, a lot of fact checking on Google. Loki is fascinated. After I leave, I decide to arrange a little treat as well as a lesson. A few days later, I get another shipment from Amazon.

Then next time I visit Loki, I give him two more books, some DVDs, plus a big dictionary. He looks at the DVD cases and I direct him to the descriptions on the back cover. "Read these, and then we'll watch some movies," I say, and he perks up. The next time I visit, he's read them both, and I let him choose which one to start with. He chooses Phantom. The security team wheels in a big screen TV and DVD player and positions them where we can both watch. We get through the silent 1925 original, the 1943 version with Claude Rains, the Hammer 1962 version, and the 2005 musical version. Loki is speechless. I leave him to think things over; the guard in the room has the remotes, and I leave instructions that Loki can watch these movies any time he'd like.

I come back the next day; he spent most of the night rewatching the silent version and the musical, and has picked up the melody of several songs. He's a fast study. He has a lot of questions, some of which I can answer, some not. The next day I introduce a multi-day project: vampires. We start with the 1922 silent, Nosferatu, then the 1931 classic Dracula, with Bela Lugosi, the 1958 Hammer version, the 1979 version with Frank Langella, 1992's Bram Stoker's Dracula with Gary Oldman, 2004's Shadow of the Vampire, just to tie it all together, and the second version of Fright Night. "And that," I tell him, leaning back in my chair, "is the merest tip of the iceberg. There are literally thousands of movies and TV shows about vampires in general and Dracula in particular, and many thousands more books." He looks overwhelmed.

"Why are people so fascinated with these vampires?" he asks.

I shrug. "The eroticism has always been a lure. Lately, they've gotten downright sexy; they're not so much monsters, they're just misunderstood."

He stares at me. Then he says, in that elegant voice, "You have got to be shitting me."

I burst out laughing and direct him to Twilight. "There's been a shift in the cultural territory," I say. "They were brutal monsters when the men drove the vampire culture. Once women took over, they because the consummate bad boys, generally immortal, impossibly handsome, caring and devoted, total wish fulfillment. Plus they're generally rich." My nose wrinkles.

I order him a few books about the history of Hollywood, the TV series of Buffy, and a couple of paranormal romances along with some really good urban fantasy.

A few days after this delivery, he throws one of the romances at the class wall and growls. I laugh, and eventually he admits to binge-watching Buffy. On my way in, the guards told me that duty in the cell is more anticipated due to the occasional entertainment; they can keep an eye on Loki and still watch the videos.

I direct Loki to Sherlock Holmes.


	40. Loki tests his boundaries

As I thought, he's captivated by Sherlock Holmes, so I bring in a Basil Rathbone screen version, the awesome movie with Robert Downey Jr, and the British TV series (swoon.) Then we have to pause the first episode and I have to explain the differences between a psychopath and a sociopath. He gives me a long look.

"Which do you think I am?" he inquires silkily.

"Psychopath," I say instantly.

"You've studied me," he purred. I suppressed the eye roll.

"The DSM doesn't make a distinction. They're both antisocial disorders. I suspect that you're the only one who truly knows, though. It's thought that psychopathy is a hereditary condition and sociopathy is the term used if there's a brain injury or if the cause comes from sociological factors like severe parental neglect, delinquent peers, or negative upbringing. Psychopaths are incapable of empathy and forming loving relationships, but they can pretend to be charming and loving, so those around them can't always see it. Because psychopaths also have no conscience or moral compass, they don't feel guilt. Sociopaths, though, can feel empathy and guilt. While sociopaths can be impulsive, hot-tempered and erratic, they may form some kind of attachments to some people or groups. Either disorder may result in violent behavior but doesn't have to." What can I say? I did my research. I'd known that he'd be interested as soon as Sherlock had his little temper tantrum over the terminology. I looked at him steadily. "It's well known that you're a spontaneous killer, even though you mostly just sort of swanned around during the Chitauri invasion." 

"There is nothing wrong with me!" he says, looking highly offended.

I decide to say only "then why are you the one who's locked up?"

Loki turned his back on me and I went away for several days.

When I came back, we did not refer to the incident, although the guards told me that he'd watched the rest of the TV episodes. Loki had started Pride and Prejudice. Not surprisingly, he heartily endorsed Mr Darcy's pride and his reservations about Elizabeth and had questions about the British class system. I didn't understand it past the broadest strokes, so again it was Google to the rescue. Then the BBC miniseries with Colin Firth (yum) since it was a pretty faithful translation of the source material.

He worked his way through the stack of books steadily. He got hung up on the third chapter of War and Peace and moved onto lighter fare. Eventually he was reduced to even reading the romances; I had some work to do and missed a week. When I finally went back, he had some scornful questions about why women read the books.

"I dunno, wish fulfillment, probably. If you're trudging from work to home to deal with the kids, the husband, the housework, even if it's shared, stories about adventure, a beautiful, spirited heroine and an uberhot guy who's smoking in the sack would probably be awesome escapist reading."

"And do you need some escapist reading?" he asked, and I was reminded of a snake moving gracefully and sinuously, hunting for prey.

"I usually read technical material," I say, shrugging, deliberately misunderstanding him. "I don't have as much time for fiction as I used to, and I'm a lot busier. And frankly, your invasion attempt has put me off science fiction, which I used to really like. Aliens are more fun on the page than they are when they're tearing up a major city."

He looked put out, and I told him I'd have some more books for him in a couple of days.

When I arrived, pushing a cart of new books, he was in the shower. I specifically came in the afternoons or evenings so that he'd have his grooming out of the way. "I'll come back," I called.

"Don't leave on my account," he said, turning around and walking out from behind his modesty wall.

I kept my eyes on his face, but I have excellent peripheral vision. Holy cow.

"You could come inside," he murmured seductively. "You must be lonely, you come to see me so often."

"I visit a lot because there aren't a lot of people to talk to around here yet," I tell him flatly, keeping my eyes north with an effort. "Do you really think I'm that easy?"

"I don't think you're easy at all," he purred. "I like a challenge."

"Get a grip on yourself," I said sternly.

"Oh, but I have one," he said. And he did. I meant that he should get a grip on his imagination, not... you know.

"Not going to happen," I said. "Now go put your clothes on if you want to talk. If not, I'm leaving."

He glared and turned his back. I did briefly notice his very nice ass. He must do calisthenics in the mornings. I shrugged and left.

This time I stay away longer to indicate my displeasure. I get a message from Nick, telling me that a bunch of them are coming out for a meeting. I brighten up at the distraction.

The day of the meeting, I finish up my work and decide to get lunch before going up for the meeting. I was about halfway through my meal when I got an emergency alert from the guard installation downstairs. I promptly abandoned my lunch and ran for the stairs, grateful for the new scanner; it made getting in and out a lot faster. I was appalled to see Loki out of his cell and Thor unconscious inside. The guard in the room was locked in his observation booth, unable to leave unless his shift was over. The guard changed every two hours. Rather than rushing around in a frenzy, I cocked my head, then approached Loki, who was smiling at me confidently. I walked up to him and poked him in the chest.

Or tried to. My finger caused him to fuzz out. Damn it, it was one of the projections of himself. Loki stood, scowling, where he had been hiding behind the modesty wall. I turned and marched to the door, shouted instructions, and marched back to the cell, where the guards reluctantly opened the door.

I was livid, and stripped the top blanket off the bed, shoving the unconscious Thor onto it so I could drag him out. Loki approached me, and I hauled off and punched him. He's a lot taller than I am; I couldn't reach his face. Besides, he had it coming. "You asshole!" I shouted at him. "You promised! You promised that you wouldn't try to escape as long as I came for visits!" He wheezed at me, and I dragged Thor out before my adrenaline expired. He's a heavy bastard. I tipped him off and went to throw the blanket back on the bed.

"Hammer--" Loki said, and in my anger forgetting that I was probably going to dislocate my shoulder trying to pick up Mjolnir, I grabbed the hammer and heaved.

I staggered back a couple of paces and stared at the hammer that dangled from my hand.


	41. The uproar

What the hell? I frown at the stupid hammer and drop it on Thor's chest as I walk by; it's pretty heavy. The locks on the cell door clunk shut, and I stomp out of the building and go to the third floor of the residence. I want a drink, and I don't keep alcohol in my room. I'm a little surprised when I enter the room and silence falls abruptly. Oh, right, the meeting. Nick eyes me speculatively as I go to the bar. Natasha is standing behind it and slides a shot of vodka down to me. It's not my favorite beverage, but whatever. I down it, then measure out some coffee. After all that adrenaline, I'm probably going to be dragging soon. After I doctor a cup for my tastes, I find a comfy chair and drop into it.

"So why was Thor in Loki's cell, anyway?" I ask Nick, fury leaking into my voice. "The rules and regulations are there for everybody's protection!" Nick shuts his mouth--I beat him to the punch, conversationally--and hits the remote; we get audio and visual of Loki inviting Thor inside for a brotherly conversation. It doesn't take much convincing, and the guards reluctantly let him in.

"It's in the regulations!" I shout. "The only time anybody is supposed to go in there is if Loki is restrained!"

"Thor's not a big reader," Clint says. Then I see Thor take a seat on the bed; he's talking to his brother, but the audio in the cell isn't very good, and Loki frowns before quickly and effortlessly hitting him with the steel chair with all his force. Thor goes down, landing on his face on the floor, where I found him. He looks at the guard, at the security cameras, the door, the disappears behind the wall. A couple of minutes later, when the locks click, Loki makes his projection and I come in. I watch it unfold again, noting Loki's surprise when I charge into his cell. He wasn't expecting that.

I shake my head as the feed reverts to real time and we see a couple of EMTs helping Thor to his feet. Mjolnir falls to the ground and Thor looks bewildered. Loki gloats a little as he tells Thor what happened, and I shake my head in annoyance. What a dick. Thor hustles out, Loki straightens his bed and sits on it. Nick clicks off the feed as Thor stomps in. He is also highly agitated. Good.

"I don't believe it," he says pettishly to me. I glare at him.

"Fortunately, facts don't require your belief in order to exist."

"Show me!" he roars. I curl my lip, grab the hammer from his hand, flip it once, then hold it out to him. He looks from me to it. I place it on the ground and sit down.

"How is this possible?" he asks, almost dumbstruck.

"I don't know," I say, frowning. "Frankly, your attitude is beginning to annoy me. Why not? I'm not some kind of inferior."

He picks it up and moves over to the bar, never quite turning his back on me. Natasha smirks and provides him with a tankard of ale.

"All right, people," Nick says, taking control. "Let's get the meeting started; we'll talk about this at the end. Now, the lab is ready to relocate beginning next week." He brings up a copy of their schedule. Apparently the scientists are already out here moving into their new residences; the instrumentation and everything else was on trucks headed this way. I brightened up. Finally, there would be people to work with, socialize with, and talk to.

I raise my eyebrows and lean forward as Nick says that they're moving the Avengers here as well. Before I can say anything, he says something about an accident. I almost miss the look he gives Thor and Bruce. I can get one of the others to tell me about it later. Peter will stay in New York while he's in school and come out for summer visits and parts of the holidays.

This is interesting too. I wonder why they're not going to just rebuild the New York facility. Moving out here, they'll need to build training facilities, a hanger for the quinjets, a lot more besides. "We decided to move out here for a couple of reasons. First, China has put together its own version of our group, and being a couple of hours closer to balance their activity should they leave their country is beneficial. It is estimated that they will begin to operate throughout Asia, and this may not be good. We would prefer to limit their activity to their own country. It's a bit hypocritical, of course, but the world is used to the US jumping in, and while the Avengers are not controlled by the government, we do work for them periodically."

"And the second reason?" I ask, when Nick stops talking.

"Well, you," he says, to my astonishment. "I'm aware that you're quite isolated out here and it isn't really safe for you to travel."

"I have been isolated," I say, nodding, "but my people are here, they'll be moving in next week."

"Your people?" Wanda asks.

"Scientists," I say. "Researchers, chemists, physicists, biologists, even. Material scientists."

"We're your people too," Steve says, a little nettled for some reason.

"It's going to cost a lot to relocate," I point out. "It'll be easier for me to do my work now that my colleagues are just a hop, skip and a jump away."

Tony leans forward. I brace myself, eyeing him warily. "You don't think you're one of us," he says.

"Is this true?" Steve asks, and feeling pinned in, I nod.

"I'm not, really, no matter what you say. I don't have anything to do in the field. I'm strictly support staff, just like the other geeks." I say, and Nick frowns.

"But you have a mutation," Hawkeye says.

"And that automatically makes me a superhero?" I say. "It doesn't. There's nothing heroic about me. I'm just an average lab accident."

"Mjolnir would disagree," Vision says for the first time, which rakes up Thor's ire again.

"And how did you do that?" Thor demands to know.

"I closed my hand around it and pulled,' I said impatiently.

"You couldn't do it earlier," Nick said. I think about this.

"I never tried," I say after I rewind my memory. "I nudged it once, and it didn't move."

Tony pats the table. "Put it down," he directs Thor. "Nudge it again," he directs me. I nudge it with as close to the same amount of force as I used then that I can do. Mjolnir doesn't move, and Thor looks relieved. "Pick it up," he says, and I stand up and give it a hearty pull. I pick up the hammer. Thor looks amazed. I put it down again; my hand was tingling from the energy of the object.

"It's heavy," I say. We try to weigh it, but the kitchen scale doesn't work. Thor holds the hammer in one hand and we pile bags of coffee in his other hand until we get an approximate weight of twenty-five pounds. Vision gives it a go and thinks it's more like 28 pounds.

"So we don't know when you became worthy to pick up the hammer," Nick says thoughtfully. "We know that Thor himself has gained and lost and regained the power to use it." Thor scowls. "What constitutes being worthy, Thor?"

"I do not know," he says, looking surly. I've never seen a 350 pound guy looking so much like a pouty child. It's not a good look.

"Well, let's get to this incident," Nick says. "Thor, why did you go into the cell with Loki? I know you got a copy of the regulations and rules. You initialed and signed them."

"He is my brother," he says crossly.

"He's a psychopath who can manipulate you very easily," I snap.

"He isn't going to do anything --" he starts, then shuts up at the look I give him.

"He knocked you unconscious," Steve points out.

"And why did you go in alone?" Thor snarls at me.

"There was a potential hostage situation and the reinforcements hadn't gotten here yet. They're too far away for best response time," I say, frowning. "The other guards have to stay at their posts. It was a calculated risk, but they could use the gas if they needed too. It's not indicated if somebody is injured as it can cause nausea, irritation of the mucous membranes, and heart palpitations. You remember, when they tested it on you to see if it works on Asgardians, it gave you a bad nosebleed but didn't provoke an allergic response. I incapacitated him, got you out, Loki reminded me about the hammer, so I just pulled on it without thinking about it so that the cell could be cleared."

"How did you know Loki wasn't out of his cell?" Natasha asked.

"I didn't at first, but I knew something wasn't right. It wasn't until the projection vanished that I realized that the cell door was closed. The guards wouldn't have shut the door behind him." I bit my lip, then groaned. "Of course. We need a--"

"Pressure sensitive floor," I finish in unison with Tony. I nod at him. "We should have just used the gas," I say. "I took an unnecessary risk as well."

"Calculated risk," Steve said.

"You've built a rapport with him," Nick said on top of that.

"Past tense," I say briskly. "The deal was that he wouldn't try to escape as long as I visited. He broke his word."

"We had a bit of an argument," Thor spoke up. We all turned to look at him. "I goaded him."

"What did you say?" I asked, curiously, and he flushed.

"It does not matter. I deserved it." I think we were all taken aback. "I do not think he was actually going to try to leave."

"Why would you do that?" I ask him, bewildered.

"It is the way it has been between us as brothers," he said, like I should know how it is.

"I don't have any brothers, I wouldn't know," I said.

"Have you no siblings?" he asked, his brow creasing.

"No, my dad ran away when he found out my mother was pregnant. She was too busy with work and me, and I suspect she didn't want to bother with another man, so it was just us and her folks until she died when I was in high school, then I went to live with my grandparents."

"Do you know who he is?" Bruce asked, and I shook my head.

"She never said, and I never asked. It wasn't important."

"How can your father be unimportant?" Thor asked, somewhat aghast.

"Because he was just a sperm donor. He wasn't much of a man if he ran out on my mom, and no kid should be made to feel like a burden, which is what I think he would have viewed me as, if he'd have had to do the court-ordered thing. I doubt there was anything he could have taught me that was worth knowing. My grandparents taught me how to take care of a lawn, make flower beds, change a tire and oil in the car, hammer on some shingles, pour concrete, be responsible. It wasn't like I didn't have a good role model."

"What did your mother teach you?" Vision asked, genuinely curious.

"Typical female stuff, how to cook and clean and sew. My grandma taught me how to garden and bake; mom didn't like baking, so she didn't do it much. One summer we framed out the basement. Grandpa did the electrical and helped us with the drywall. Grandma had more time; she retired when I was about ten, so I learned the extras on what mom taught me." I smiled. "Mom liked to read a lot, so that was her hobby. She taught me not to judge a book by the cover. If she taught me to cook, Gran taught me knife skills and extra techniques. If mom taught me to sew a blouse, Gran would teach me how to work with difficult fabrics and tackle more advanced patterns."

"You know a lot," Steve said.

"I learned what people had to teach. Plus I was in Girl Scouts for, like, ever, and I learned a little about a lot there. One of which is not to pick fights with someone who isn't in your weight class," I say, looking at Thor.

"It is true, my brother is not as strong as I," he said, puffing a bit.

"No, I meant that mentally he's more agile than you, and you're probably always going to lose a war of wits with him unless he lets you win," I said flatly. Thor deflated but didn't protest. "Plus, he managed to lay you out just fine."

"He had a chair," Thor pointed out loudly.

"He is a natural blond," Tony pointed out in an aside. I had to work hard to cut off the laugh. It shouldn't be ok to make fun of somebody for an expression of one's phenotype, but Tony, while a pain in the ass in many ways, has almost impeccable comic timing.

"All right," Nick cut in before Thor could ask what his hair color had to do with anything. "I think there's been enough excitement for one day. Thor, stay away from your brother unless you bring a friend to referee. Emma, Tony, now that we've had a live test of the containment cell, I want you to work together on refinements. You mentioned a pressure-sensitive floor. Look into that. No fighting. And also relocating the guard station. Also, I want you to work with Dr Banner on containment protocols for the green version of him." He gave instructions to the others, and we got up. At the bottom of the stairs, Tony flipped me a flash drive.

"Take a look at that," he said, and walked off, saying something about getting some data to work with.

I went to my apartment. Sigurd and Torburn were sleeping, all muddy. They must have been having a great time while I was throwing a fit. After I looked at this, we'd have to go down the hall for a grooming.

I fired up my computer and opened the files on the drive. They were merchandising plans for the new public center. I grinned; Tony would want to control the public perceptions of the Avengers as much as possible. There were books, games, costumes, and dolls--excuse me, action figures--at a variety of price points. I clicked open a file with the action figures in it; there were good likenesses of them there. There was also a new one, entitled "The Armorer." It was a female figure, like a D&D fighter--big tits and a chain mail bikini with a skirt. I rolled my eyes. It obviously wasn't me; nobody's boobs are that perky when they're in their 40's. The figure wore a helmet based on a crested Spartan helmet so the face and hair were obscured, and held a hammer in one hand. Possible accessories include an anvil, functional bellows, and a bar of "vibranium". As I beheld this creation, a note blipped up beside it. :Make hammer bigger. And more square. Sex sells: it directed, and I snorted a laugh. The copy below the image read: The Armorer keeps to the shadows, but performs many vital functions for the team. Her skills are crucial for keeping her teammates well armed and equipped, but she also helps to mediate disputes, performs difficult tasks, and keeps the Avengers cohesive. Another note blips up :keeps the home fires burning? too much?: 

There are notes to deliberately produce fewer of these toys; Tony bets that their relative scarcity will make them more sought after and valuable to collectors. I'm stunned, and check the file dates. The newest addition to anything associated with The Armorer, aside from the two new notes, is several months old.


	42. Getting through the fallout with an umbrella

I went back upstairs, the dirty pups trailing. They sat on the carpet as I walked over to Nick, who is the only person left after the meeting. "You want to hear what Thor said," he said, and I nodded. This time he restored the audio, and I could hear Thor twitting him about me, saying that Loki had been strangely cooperative but perhaps he could see why. "Perhaps I should ask her to drink with me," he said, and that was when Loki belted him with the chair. Nick looked over at me and grinned, his eye twinkling. I shook my head and the dogs and I left.

I washed the dogs--they were most cooperative--and thought about siblings. I didn't have any, but most of my friends growing up did, and I was familiar with the ways they teased each other. I realized that I might have to reassess Loki--obviously he and Thor did have a relationship, so he probably wasn't a psychopath. Tony found me as I was using the dryer on the dogs, and over the whir, loudly said that he'd been looking into pressure sensors for the floor. We talked about how long it might take to install them and whether we needed them in the cell, where we could put Loki if we decided to install them in the cell as well. I had a site for the relocated guard post, upstairs from the cell; space would be taken from a cafeteria storage room. They had a lot more storage than they used, and the setup for Loki had its own power source. If there was ever trouble with the electricity, it shouldn't affect both installations, and Tony wanted to make it possible to switch the power between each source so that the cell and the security arrangements were never in the dark. 

We divided up the work; we'd each research our project and put together a timeline for completion. I realized with some bemusement that this was probably the first time I'd spent with Tony that didn't have either one of us trying to draw blood. Hah.

The next few days, I was kept busy with the arrival of the scientists. They'd all chosen to live off campus, so they trickled in as they settled in. The managers and lead scientists were the first ones in, and we had fun as I showed them around the completed lab block and the larger complex. I took a couple of days and helped set up some of the instruments. Mostly, though, I just enjoyed the bustle of fellow researchers. I may be a mutant and thus part of the Avengers (I still didn't completely buy in, but I recognized--and appreciated--the sincerity of the others) but I will probably always feel coziest in a laboratory. I made myself available to answer questions and help out as more lab rats arrived. In some ways, it was a little overwhelming to have so much company after months of practical solitude.

The Avengers started to move in too, so there was bustle everywhere. Scott wouldn't be living out here full time; like Peter, he had other obligations. Clint was considering moving his family out; his wife and kids came out for a visit and evaluation, and along with Natasha, I got to go out and spend some time as a tourist. Clint had a lovely family, and I hoped that they'd consider moving out.

Then I went down to visit Loki. I apologized straightaway for assuming the worst. He shrugged it off, settling into his chair. "I may have misjudged you," I admitted. I smiled a little. "You might just be a sociopath."

He grinned back. "Well, I must say that it was worth it to find that you can lift my brother's beloved hammer."

"He wasn't so thrilled," I said, and we smiled at each other.

"I don't suppose you heard what we were arguing about," he said.

"There must be some trouble with the audio in here," I said blandly. "When Nick played the recording for us, nobody could make out the words." I swear he looked a little relieved. "But we did notice that there were some issues with our current setup," and explained the changes to the floor. I didn't give him the information on the guard post, though. He thought about the news.

"I wasn't going to escape," he said, and I nodded.

"This way we'll be able to tell if it really is you outside the cell, and that will help avoid future overreactions." He considered this and tilted his head in acceptance. I changed the subject. "The Avengers are moving here, making this the home base, so you'll probably be seeing more of your brother," I said. Loki snorted, but it was more for show and we both knew it. "He's been reminded about the security protocols," I said a little wearily, and he laughed, delighted. "I would appreciate it if you didn't urge him to break the rules. I got to go off campus for awhile, do some tourist things," I went on, then dug in my bag for the things security had signed off on. I passed him a small stuffed seal I'd gotten for him at the aquarium. He looked surprised, and I also passed over a book on the aquarium. Then I dug out some DVD cases. "Musicals!" I said enthusiastically, and held them up for him. "Chicago, Singing in the Rain, On the Town. And this is The Breakfast Club; it's not a musical." After I explained what detention was, I popped in The Breakfast Club, and we sat back and prepared ourselves to be entertained. The kids were still arriving for detention when the door opened; Thor and Tony came in. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Loki shove the stuffed animal behind him on the chair and suppressed a smirk. It was just something to let him know he hadn't been forgotten.

"Haven't seen this in years," Tony said, and returned shortly with another chair. "Have you showed Less than Zero yet?" He passed me another flash drive and I gave him one that had my data on the guard post. Thor looked a little bewildered, then he brought in a chair too. It was Thor's first movie, so we had to pause the movie several times to explain what movies were to begin with, and make more detailed cultural references. Tony left after the movie was over, and I gave a short history on Prohibition, 1920's culture, and 1920's Chicago. It was too much for Thor, and he left after the first musical number, scandalized. As the door closed, I looked at Loki and we burst out laughing.


	43. Everybody gets a field trip

My project with the relocation of the guards was completed first; Tony spent forever messing around with the pressure sensors. I don't know why; sure, the particle/waves of the light of Loki's projection had mass and therefore weight, but not nearly enough to tip the switch on even the most sophisticated pressure sensors. I think it was just a chance to mess around with something new. But in any case, the guards were close in case of any further incidents--although there were none--and protocols were rewritten to test any appearance of Loki outside his cell before opening the door. Loki saw the benefit of this change--nervous guards wouldn't be charging into his cell with guns out--and actually helped them in their training exercises by providing projections. Either he saw the benefit or it was just a break in the routine. I'm not quite sure which, but whatever.

After my part in Loki's security arrangements was over, Tony asked me for an alloy for a new Iron Man suit; of course, the one he liked the best was the one that needed the most manipulation on my part, so each part of the suit had to be custom fit. He turned out to be a lot more patient with the process than I'd anticipated, and his new suit, both the inner and outer skins, were a lot lighter, which required a lot less power to operate. There was better articulation in the joints as well, and then I worked with Tony and Jim on a more advanced exoskeleton for Jim's legs. My alloy allowed for the removal of long areas in the long metal parts, which provided a certain aesthetic as well as making it even more lightweight. Cooler, too, since air could circulate better. Then Sam wanted an upgraded suit. I had orders backed up for months just for the suits alone. Then Clint wanted to experiment with strength and flexibility in his bows, which also meant that the arrows needed to be upgraded as well. Peter crept in to see me on one of his breaks out to the new facility and, red-faced, requested a lightweight, unbreakable cup. There'd been an incident while webslinging. He didn't volunteer details, and I didn't ask, out of compassion. He was so embarrassed at having to ask that it was a miracle his face didn't melt from the heat of his blushes, but he provided a cup, pointed out how he'd like it customized, and sort of faded away. I put other work on hold so it could be completed during his visit and added cushioning around the edges as well as a wicking layer. We did not speak of it further; I had it delivered to his room by inter-office mail.

When Tony was finally ready to proceed on the installation of the new floor, Thor and I helped Tony supervise Loki's removal from his cell for a day while they installed the floor in his cell, which also involved disassembling the cell walls since the wiring had to go under them. We spent the day outside (Loki declined sunscreen, to his detriment), also carefully watched by the pups. Torburn had easily doubled in size since I got him, but he was still sweet as could be. Loki twitted Thor about the name again, but I shut that down.

"He's going to get a complex," I admonished them firmly, stroking Torburn's soft puppy fur. "He likes his name, and I won't have him thinking there's something wrong because you guys think it's funny."

"I don't think it's funny," Thor grumbled.

"He looks up to you," I said crisply. "You should take it as a compliment."

Predictably, Loki got bored fast and I produced a traveling cribbage board. After he learned to play, he got peevish that he kept losing, so Tony challenged him to chess. The games were so hard fought and ended with the loser sulking, so I stepped in. Loki always beat me because I'm not a good chess player, and in the end out of desperation for a decent game began teaching me. Then we went inside when it began to get dark, where we watched TV. Steve joined us for the popcorn and soda, then around nine we got word that the floor was finished and the cell was back up and had tested out ok. After Loki was safely back inside, Thor went to Asgard to report on Loki's conduct. He came back with Munin, who was here for a visit.

"We're not running a petting zoo," Tony cracked, and Thor tried to wither him with a glance.

"My father would like to observe Loki's conduct," he said, and Sigurd, looking very put-upon, transported the raven on his back to the cell for a few days. The raven observed Loki's interactions, then went back home, I guess. He left, anyway. The next time Thor went home for a visit, he returned with a present from Odin for my apparent civilizing effect on his son, a billowing azure cape (that was about a foot too long) and a pair of metal clips. "They will attach the cape to your armor," Thor instructed, then blinked. "You don't have any armor," he said, just realizing this. Tony, Steve, Wanda, and Clint, who were with us in the third floor playing pool, started to laugh. A couple weeks later, Thor returned with a silver collar, very broad, that had attachments for the clip.

"You should make yourself some armor," Steve said lazily.

"The rest of us have suits," Tony was quick to pile on. "You should too."

"We could start bringing you into the field if you did," Jim said. "You could make repairs on the fly if they're necessary." And the rest of them piled on. In the end, I agreed to make some armor. Tony wanted drawings so he could make some last minute adjustments to my action figure.

"So, you know, keep it kind of the same," he instructed, and Thor sketched Sif's armor as a possible prototype.

They wouldn't let me shove it to the back of the queue, either. Aided and abetted by Nick, who found the whole thing funny, I ended up with a Corinthian-style helmet (R&D provided an enhanced fabric to cover the open parts of the helmet over the face-- I ended up just making a simple mask like a burglar's stocking mask instead, which also covered the throat and neck) with a blue-dyed crest over the top that matched my cape, a pauldron that looked like a bolero jacket, breastplate and backplate, a leather fitted plackart around the waist, and the collar lay over my shoulders. The collar was bulky and sat up off my shoulders a couple inches to make the cape look extra good, but a knotwork design decorated the edge, done by repousse and engraving, so it was pretty as well as serving a purpose. I had fingerless gauntlets that covered my forearms for the look of the outfit, and I wore fitted leather trews that tucked into supple leather boots with greaves permanently attached to protect my shins. Tony insisted that I add a short Roman-style leather war skirt, essentially studded leather strips attached at the waist. I refused to wear the Xena-style costume he initially pushed for. I used metal alloys that looked like silver with bronze colored accents and charcoal gray leather to match the fabric of my mask; the costumers made the fabric parts for me. It looked cohesive and not entirely ridiculous, the cape covered my butt and swirled magnificently (although I couldn't get that scene from The Incredibles out of my head where Edna is explaining why she won't design with capes) and it got the others off my back. Tony had arranged for photographs to be taken of me in my get-up and sent off to the toymakers. I was so glad for the stocking mask that obscured my face; I found the process to be embarrassing though I knew the others took it seriously. They were heroes, though. Wanda and Natasha helped me put it all on.

"You have a nice figure," Wanda said as she handed me the gauntlets.

"Same size as I was in college," I said, as I pulled my mask on. I carried the helmet as the two women pushed me into the room where a backdrop had been set up for photographs. Tony was also there, as was Thor. Really glad I had the mask on, and I shoved the helmet over my head. Tony nodded approvingly. Thor handed me a hammer that was a quarter scale model of Mjolnir. I rolled my eyes, concealed. 

"It is functional," Thor assured me. "Our blacksmiths assured me that it will perform in your work." I heft it; there's a cool little buzz about it, but nothing like Mjolnir. "Father enchanted it to do its best for someone of your skill," he added offhandedly. "But it is not a weapon." My eyes opened big. That was pretty cool. 

The photography process was over much more quickly than it had taken to get dressed, and soon I was back in my workshop. I'd had a concealed shallow cabinet installed that held my new, unnecessary armor. I had a special stand and everything. I shut it all away, except for the hammer, and tested it out on an alloy I was experimenting with specifically for knives. It worked really well.

I worked off and on that week finishing a sample knife, which had a graceful curve to it, engraving a nice pattern along the unsharpened edge, and had the costume department make a simple sheath for it. Then I gave it to Thor to give to his dad as a thank you for my nice new cape and the hammer. I felt the hammer in particular deserved more than just a thank you note. Thor reported that it was the hit of Odin's court, and that it was being rumored to be able to cut the wind. Nice and flattering, but inaccurate.

Everybody was getting excited; the new visitor center was set to open the next week. I was excited too; I was going to get to attend the opening too. The heroes were going in costume, but Nick was going to hang out with me and watch the festivities too.


	44. Unveiling

The opening of the visitors center spanned the last part of the work week as well as the weekend. People could enjoy interactive exhibits, explore displays on each Avenger--similar to but smaller than the one Cap had had in the Smithsonian--and most of the Avengers themselves rotated through to greet the visitors. They were in costume, and once it got out that you could shake Black Widow's hand or give Cap a hug, attendance skyrocketed. It got to be a bit much for Peter, whose skin-tight costume led to some unfortunate gropes, so he was partnered with Tony, who wasn't shy about telling fans when there'd been enough contact. Bruce wasn't part of the show, so he and Nick and I wandered around, judging the crowd reaction, hearing what they liked and didn't like, what they'd like to see. We were enjoying funnel cakes at the end of lunch in the restaurant on Friday, when a family with a boy and a girl sat down at the next table. Bruce's back was toward them, so they didn't realize that the Hulk (kinda) was listening to their critique of his action figure. (The boy thought it wasn't scary enough, the girl thought the shade of green was off. It was. It was too blue.) They wondered why his shirt always tore but not his pants. He'd also gotten the Black Widow figure; he thought she was cool and thought that there was something between the two superheroes, based on footage from some of their actions where Natasha had been caught calming him down. I was muffling my laughter; Nick didn't bother, and Bruce was crimson. Then the girl took her toy out of her bag.

It was me.

My costume, actually. I was torn between being amazed that amazed that anybody would buy one and embarrassment of my own. It was one of the expensive ones too, with a real horsehair crest on the helmet and clothes rather than molded plastic. Her brother made fun of her, it was a new Avenger, not even a real hero, somebody who worked for the real heroes. I had to nod at that; we were kind of on the same page. The girl retorted that brains could outdo brawn, at least the figure was clothed, and that the costume was cool, and thanked her mom for shelling out for it. The mom sounded tired when she said that it was hard to find superheroes that were women, and that she wished there was more merchandise for this particular figure. Bruce nudged me. I suddenly had a lot more compassion for him. Nick took our tray to clear the table, and on the way back, he stopped at the next table, introduced himself, thanked them for coming, and engaged the little girl about the new Avenger. He pointed out the hammer, told the spellbound family that it had been given to me by Odin himself (glossing over the reasons why) and highlighted some of my accomplishments, including the work I'd put in helping to create the new manacles for Hulk's countermeasures, and saying that I was responsible for the increasing use of nonlethal options in the fights with the supervillains. The dad's response was very favorable; that shift was the reason he'd agreed to the trip, he said. He was an insurance adjuster. They'd come from Santa Fe for the opening. Nick invited them to stick around that afternoon, provided a pass for dinner at the restaurant, and Bruce and I met him outside the restaurant. I knew what was coming next.

Bruce drove me back to my workshop, where, for the first time, I suited up as an Avenger. Thor, alerted by Nick, came with us, and we made a surprise appearance at the end of a Q and A session that Cap, Iron Man, Falcon, War Machine, Black Widow, and Ant Man were having. Steve covered his laugh with a cough, and after the screams from excited girls over Thor died down, I got my first question.

"Why are you wearing a cape like Thor's? Doesn't it get caught on things"

"The cape was a gift from Odin, Thor's father," I explained. "It does sometimes get caught on things, but it's detachable, so I don't always have to wear it."

"Did you meet his dad? Does he like you? Does that mean you're getting married?" another kid wanted to know. Thor and I looked at each other in horror and I stepped away from him. Steve totally lost it.

"No, no, there's no wedding plans, just friendship," I said hastily, glad that my mask hid my face. Steve left the stage, but I could still hear him. He was practically crying with laughter.

"Why are you carrying a baby hammer?" a teenager asked.

"It's another present," I had to admit. "I use it in my work."

"Is it like Thor's?" another eager voice asked. "Does it shoot fire and stuff?"

I laughed. "No, nothing that exciting. It just helps me do my best work." No idea if that was really true, but it sounded good, and I had crafted Odin's knife with it, which was some darn good work.

"Does that mean you can use Thor's hammer too?" somebody called out, and Thor and I looked at each other, not sure what to do with this one. Tony stepped up between us, put his arm around my shoulders and patted Thor's back.

"Show them what she can do!" he encouraged Thor theatrically, then stepped back, gesturing to the crowd, who began to clap and yell. Thor shot him a venomous glance, and handed me Mjolnir. I wasn't quite sure what to do with two hammers. The crowd quieted suddenly, then erupted.

"How can you do that?" somebody gasped, and I shrugged uncomfortably.

"I don't know, actually," I said, and hastily passed Mjolnir back to its rightful wielder. "It's one too many hammers, though." That got a laugh. There were a few more questions about what it is that I do, Steve rejoined us, wiping his eyes, and Tony, the master showman, took control of the event again; I was grateful to step to the back. Other heroes got to talk and engage the crowd, and at the end, I found myself wedged between Tony and Steve as fans came up to talk and get us to sign things. Little girls who were too shy to approach Thor or Tony aggressively mobbed me, talking a mile a minute, asking how I got my skills, including the little girl from lunch. I took the opportunity to advocate for STEM studies, then boys started to join the crowd.

"Why don't you have a breastplate like Sif's?" one crestfallen teenage boy said to me, noting the lack of the individual boob cups on mine.

"It's armor, not a bra," I said crisply. "If you wear that kind of armor, you're providing a perfect guide to where your heart is located, so that it's easier for an enemy to target. There's no reason to sexualize armor." It's true; a spear point or sword will follow the line of the corset-type armor right to the sternum. With regular armor, there's more guessing involved. The kid looked disappointed and moved on.

Toward the end of the panel, I see Nick in the background, watching and waiting. I made a discreet exit, and he drove me back to the workshop. "That kind of sucked," I said, taking off my helmet and mask, putting the helmet back on its stand and setting aside the mask to be washed. I'd been nervously sweating a lot.

"You did a good job," he appraised me. "You reassured parents that there's somebody who's putting thought into the Avengers armament, which shows we care, you're providing a good role model for little girls who don't like the fighting and/or who don't want to just have crushes on the cuter Avengers, and you're making people evaluate you based on your skills, not your appearance."

"Because nobody can see my face," I point out, pulling my costume off. I have a t-shirt and bike shorts on underneath. I stretch after all the plating is off; it's heavy, even with the lighter weight metals I used.

"Masked heroes with secret identities are good," Tony said, popping in, also out of his Iron Man suit. "You add good dimensions to our roster of personalities. Smart like Bruce and me, but less threatening. Hefting Thor's hammer makes you more trustworthy; the blue in your costume associates you subliminally with Cap, whose main costume color is also blue, and that gives you a more trustworthy feel. You're keeping us from killing people, you're engaging little girls....lots to like. Plus the unveiling of a new superhero, especially a woman, will generate a lot of positive buzz. A lot of smartphone videos of your appearance are up on social media." He surveys my costume. "But that kid was right. You should have armor that lifts and separates."

"No."

"People expect the corset look."

"People are too hung up on breast size." I hang up the cape. The Asgardians have their share of issues, but their cloth is aces. Not any snags or wrinkles, and it resists staining from the sticky paws of the kids who grabbed it this afternoon.

"Your fan base would explode," Tony tried again.

"My fans should appreciate my brain and abilities, not my tits," I say quellingly. "That's enough, Tony. I know that sex sells, but it's not going to work here."

"Why not?" he said, surveying me. "You're proof that middle aged women are hot."

I stare at him. "Because I've learned that the brain is a lot sexier than the packaging it's contained in. And brains don't look sexy." Nick laughed.

Tony preens. "Are you saying I'm sexy?" he asks.

"No, I'm saying that I am. It's just not the most important thing about me, though, and it's not what I want to be known for." He looks, briefly, disappointed, but rebounds fast.

"Let me know if you change your mind," he says. We all meet up later in the third floor play room. There's a lot of talk about my appearance and how the fans took it.

"You make cape swirling look good," Sam tells me.

"We've got a lot more requests for press credentials for the weekend," Nick notes, and Tony rubs his hands together. He does love the image control aspects.

The sugar rush from the funnel cake has faded, and I lead the charge to the cafeteria for a good dinner. Then it's back to the play room, but we make it an early night. It's tiring have to "be" somebody, and now I'm expected to make appearances over the weekend with the others. Tony is having more of the less-expensive Armorer merchandise shipped in overnight.

The weekend passes in a flurry of hear-pounding terror (I don't really like public speaking), a cramped hand from signing autographs, and I find my boots need better arch support. The press is generally really good and the people who show up are enthusiastic. When I show up without the costume, I mingle and listen to what people are saying; most people like the center and appreciate the outreach effort; other are more cynical about the marketing and think it's an effort to distract from the damage that still results despite our efforts. I get requests from interviews, not only from main-stream media, but also magazines like Make, Scientific America, and New Scientist. Teachers groups want me to endorse STEM programs, especially for girls. It's completely overwhelming, and I hide until Tony makes me act. He's got a list of requests he thinks I should turn down, a list of things to accept (some of the magazine interviews), and some for me to decide. We're getting a new PR team, too, to keep our message that we stand in response to the criminals and villains out there as well as to handle the fan mail. As a group, we decide to do all media at the visitors center; no press will be allowed past the gates to the compound where we live. We need to guard our privacy carefully.

It's a lot to get used to, and I'm not sure I ever really will. But I appreciate that I've earned a way to progress from a rather bitter mutant hermit to a mutant who can make real contributions. And along the way, I've gained a pretty extraordinary group of friends and comrades. It all keeps me on my toes and keeps life interesting, and my work keeps me engaged and sharp. What more can you ask for?

**************

The story continues in Book Two, Duty.


End file.
